


Light in Shadow

by theCelticMyst



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: AU, F/M, Gothic Twist, Light Angst, Vampires, Vampires instead of Darkspawn, Victorian/goth style setting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-07
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2019-05-19 11:14:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 61
Words: 125,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14872712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theCelticMyst/pseuds/theCelticMyst
Summary: A thousand years before, magisters from Tevinter broke into the Golden City of the Maker.  In their hubris, they thought to take the city and the Maker's powers and free the Old Gods.  They were thrown out and became the five races of vampires.  When these vampires find an Old God, they turn them into the Vampire King or Queen.  The corrupted Old Gods, then lead their followers in an attempt to take over the World of Thedas.  While they appear to be dragons while in their slumber, they can turn to appear human and in that form they search for power (along with their destined 'mate').  These Blights upon the land can only be stopped by the Crimson Wardens, a group of skilled men and women who bear the Mark that indicates that they were Chosen to fight the scourge of the undead in the Maker's name.  Among those bearing the Mark is Maeve Cousland.  She had no desire to join the fight against the undead, but another Blight is upon the land of Ferelden and fate has different plans for her.





	1. The Exposition Chapter

**Author's Note:**

> In this AU story, the darkspawn have been replace by vampires and the setting has been moved to more of that of a Victorian inspired world.

“Things were once very different in Thedas,  but then a thousand years ago the vain and narcisstic people of Tevinter sent ten priests into the Golden City.  They invaded the Seat of the Maker.  For their true masters, their Old Gods, had whispered that if they could conquer the city for them, they would give them unlimited powers,” the Crimson Warden recruiter announced.  He sat in the ancient library of Castle Cousland.  The castle had stood for over a thousand years and still bore much of its original Medieval architecture.

            “Yes, she knows that,” Maeve Cousland’s old tutor’s voice was filled with strained patience.

            Maeve glanced over at Ser Gilmore.  They had been called to meet with the recruiter, Duncan, because they both bore the Mark.  Those who could become Crimson Wardens were born with a birthmark that resembled two griffons facing each other somewhere on their body.  Sir Gilmore wouldn’t tell her where his was.  She hadn’t seen it, but some of the men under him had.  Hers was on her stomach, as if from birth she’d been unable to avoid the stigma of being one of the Chosen Ones.  She didn’t care, she was the daughter of Duke Bryce Cousland and that was where fate had chosen for her destiny to lie.  “Why would they have believed these Old Gods?” She’d always wondered.

            “While the gods sometimes appeared as dragons, they usually took the forms of very handsome men and beautiful women,” Duncan responded.  “They were gods after all, which means they had power and… charisma.  They were also the enemies of our Maker, which is why He trapped them.  Power is hard to resist, my lady.”

            “If power is so hard to resist, then why did the Maker punish the Old Gods followers by turning them into the undead?”  Maeve challenged.

            “Men make their own choice,” Duncan countered.  “As punishment for their hubris and evil intentions, the Maker gave onto the world the Blight; the Blight of the five races of the undead that is.  We were invaded by Nosferatu, Byronic, Draugr, lamia, and ubus vampires.  They swept over Thedas, feeding and destroying all in their path.  It was during this fight that the Chosen Ones first appeared.  They were Thedas’ gift from a Maker who had abandoned them.  The Chosen Ones joined together to create the Crimson Wardens.  They ended the Blight and saved Thedas.”

            “Since then there have been three more Blights,” Sir Gilmore added.  “Each time the undead find one of the Old Gods, they turn them into the Vampire King or Queen.   The Vampire King then starts a new Blight.  Are you telling us that a new Vampire King or Queen has risen?”

            “That is why I am here,” Duncan confirmed.  “It is a Vampire King this time, Urthemiel.  He seeks to destroy Thedas and to find his Mate.”

            “His mate?”  The tutor had never heard about an Old God’s mate.

            “If a Vampire King can find his mate and go through the ritual to merge their souls, they will become Daywalkers.  They will be able to not only move in the light, but even the Crimson Wardens will no longer be able to kill them.  Their new powers will then transfer to their offspring, which they will be able to have.  Those children will become the New Gods who will destroy all life on Thedas and create new races in Their image,” Duncan revealed.

            “How do you know this if it has never been done before?” Maeve questioned.

            “My lady,” the tutor protested at her impertinence.

            Duncan smiled indulgently.  “It came close to happening during the First Blight.  The only way to stop it was to sacrifice Warden Amelie before she mated with Dumas.”

            “The other Crimson Wardens killed her?” Maeve had a problem with that.

            “She’d told us what he planned, but refused to kill him herself,” Duncan shrugged.  “She knew that she was the key to this awful future, Dumas had told her all as he was in love with her.  Yet she would not stop him and was even going to join him in the darkness.  The other Wardens did what they had to.  After that, the entire world had changed.  Governments had been destroyed and monarchies led by war lords took their place.  As peace returned to the land, those monarchies settled into fair and functioning kingdoms.  The people went back to living in castles and walled cities to protect themselves from the undead.  The churches rose in power, as their symbols and instruments proved affective against the evils the Maker had unleashed.  Then they warred amongst themselves until the Chantry reigned supreme following the rise of Andraste.  Every nation’s king or queen had to deal with the Chantry and answer to the Divine.  This helped to bring peace to the kingdoms.”  He didn’t mention that Ferelden and Orlais had just had a war one generation before.

            “Wasn’t Andraste, Herself, undead?” Maeve questioned.  She was sure she’d heard that before, even though the Chantry tried to hide that fact from her tale.

            “She was,” Duncan nodded, impressed, at her old tutor.  “Not many know that.  She managed to gain her independence from blood lust, though, and wanted to return Her soul to the Maker.  The Maker not only returned that soul, but selected Her to be his bride.  When She was betrayed to Tevinter, they didn’t burn Her at the stake.  They merely tied her to that stake and let the sun do it’s worse.  Even She had not been able to gain the ability to walk in the sun.  Those who have been tainted never could.”

            “I thought she had children, though,” Ser Gilmore commented.

            “Her husband’s concubine had sons,” Duncan explained.  “She accepted them as her own.  After she called on the Maker to restore Her and save Her people, he blessed Her so she was able to give birth.  She had two daughters who have been lost to history.  They were born mages with the ability to walk in the sun.  They were said to be excellent vampire hunters and  cleared the creatures from Southern Thedas for a time.  That was until the Second Blight.  Now the Fifth Blight is upon us.  Urthemiel walks this land and I need both of you to help me stop him.”

            “I will be honored to,” Sir Gilmore bowed.

            “You may have the head of my guard, but not my daughter,” Bryce Cousland the Duke of Highever walked into the room.

            “Your Grace,” Duncan protested.

            “I have no desire to join the Crimson Wardens,” Maeve assured him.

            “You heard her,” Bryce sat down and regarded the small group.  “Maeve may have the Mark of a Chosen One, but she has a different fate.  Part of that fate may be on his way now.  You’ll have some fellow guests to keep you company Duncan.  King Cailan is on his way.”


	2. Paths of Possible Fates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cailan announces his plans, which include courting Maeve. Meanwhile, Duncan wants Maeve to join the Crimson Wardens. She sees a close friend to help her decide what to do.

The large Calvary escort of Cailan Theirin, the King of Ferelden, arrived at Cousland Castle two hours before dinner was to be served, when the sun was still high in the sky.  They passed through the entrance to the castle.  It was a long hallway with mirrors on both sides and a large cross in the middle.  Above the heads of those who walked in the hallway was a system of valves and pullies that would release holy water if the castle were to come under attack.

            As one exited the entrance, the priest’s private rooms were to the left and the family’s private chapel was the right.  Both of these had guards placed, as did the entrance.

            Bryce Cousland met his king in the courtyard that the entrance led into.  Beside him was his wife, Eleanor.  Behind them were their two children, Fergus and Maeve.  “Your Majesty,” the two men embraced like the old friends they were.  “What brings you to my humble home?”

            “Humble?” Cailan smiled as he took in the gardens and fountains in the courtyard, as well as the dozens of guards, knowing even a larger number of soldiers were housed in the castle’s walls.  “The walls surrounding Highever are thick and lined with silver.  They have holy symbols carved all over them.  Inside, those walls are interspaced with gilded mirrors.”

            “I like to remind the people of Highever how beautiful they are,” Bryce shrugged.

            “You’re obviously also worried about their souls as there are priests everywhere and your artisans are hawking holy symbols in every other shop,” Cailan countered.

            “We give tax breaks to our artisans and supplement their incomes so crosses and other such jewelry is available to all,” Bryce admitted.  “I just want to support the arts.”

            “I wish all of my nobles were so protective of their people,” Cailan grinned.

            “Dinner is in two hours,” Eleanor hugged Cailan herself.  “I will have someone show you and your men to your rooms.”

            “I wanted to speak with you before then,” Cailan looked around.  “Privately.  I would like Maeve to be there as well.”

            Bryce glanced back at his daughter.  “Very well, Your Highness,” he led him to the family wing.

 

 

            Bryce had one of his servants bring tea and crackers to the family’s private living room as he settled on a comfortable settee with Eleanor.  Maeve sat in a comfortable armchair across the chair where Cailan now lounged.  “What really brought you to my castle, my friend?”

            “There are times when one realizes they let themselves be blinded by lust or ambition,” Cailan began.  “At other times, they may have been led astray by those they thought of as a friend.  When they are lucky, they can rectify these mistakes.  I hope to be able to do so.”  He took a deep breath.  “I have presented Anora with divorce papers.  She is fighting the split of our union, but lawyers have assured me that the divorce would be finalized.  I already have the Divine’s written support.”

            “I hadn’t realized there was trouble in your marriage,” Eleanor took a sip of her Chamomile.

            “We’ve been married for five years and she has shown no sign of giving me an heir,” Cailan pointed out.

            “You would divorce her for something that isn’t her fault?” Maeve took a deep drink of her Butter Mint Tea to keep herself from giving the king the tongue lashing he deserved.

            “If it were just that, I’d still be a happily married man,” Cailan assured her quickly.  “It’s more, though.  Anora seems to think that she is the one who inherited the Crown of Ferelden.  She acts as if she is the one running the country and I’m just a bumbling idiot.  She would be the sole ruler, too, if she had her way.  Looking back on our courtship, she was playing a role, a very calculated one.  Her father kept putting her before me and she played the coquet.  I think she’s been playing it for other men now.”

            “Are the rumor that I am hearing of a possible alliance with Empress Celene of Orlais true then?” Bryce wondered.

            “Well…” Cailan hedged.  “That is only one of many possibilities.  The Crimson Wardens assure me that a new Vampire King has risen and there is a Blight on the horizon.  An alliance with Orlais would help matters, but our two countries have not had the best of relations.  I’m afraid my people would not be in favor of such a choice.”

            “No, none of your nobles nor the rest of your people would accept an Orlesian queen,” Bryce’s voice held an edge of warning.

            “And … that’s why I have decided to look for a bride who is more acceptable to our people.”  He smiled at Maeve.  “Maeve would be more than just acceptable.  She is the daughter of my most powerful noble, Duke Bryce Cousland, and is hailed as the most beautiful woman in Ferelden.  That’s why I came.  I’m here to court your daughter, Bryce.”

            “Me?”  Maeve had not expected the king to suddenly announce that he was there to woo her.  “I’m…”  She stumbled.  “Except…”  Her parents had promised her that she would be allowed to marry for love.  Was she not going to be allowed even that?  Was it not enough that fate had tried to counter any bright future she might have had by giving her the Mark?  Now her birthright and the genetic gifts she was given by her parents had put directly into the path of the king.  Yes, he was handsome, funny, and could make her smile, but she didn’t love him.

            “She would make an excellent queen,” Bryce agreed.  “She is cunning and persuasive and she plays the harp, piano, and guitar.  She also has an excellent chess game, is well versed in politics, can hit a vampire’s heart with a crossbow at a hundred yards, and is an expert with dual swords.”

            Maeve took another long sip of tea, trying to drown out the groan at her father’s boasts.  They were true, but that didn’t make her any more qualified than the Baron of West Hills’ daughter.  Perhaps she should suggest Cailan look at Izot as a possibility.

            “Bryce,” Eleanor’s voice held a note of warning.  “You are welcome, of course, to court our daughter, Your Highness.  That is after you have divorced your present wife.  The final choice of a husband is hers, however.”  Maeve smiled at her mother.

            “She has been presented with papers, in secret.  If they are not signed by the time I get to Ostagar, I will have the divorce put through by my lawyers with or without her cooperation.  No judge is going to oppose me.  Those papers will then be presented publicly,” Cailan announced. 

            “You’re heading to Ostagar?”  Bryce was surprised.   Ostagar was the remains of a town built before the second Blight.  The wilderness had reclaimed most of the city, but the central structures were still there and the wards and holy symbols had been reinforced by priests.

“I’m glad to discover that Duncan is here,” Cailan continued.  “He has confirmed that this is a Blight.  I will need your men to join us and will be sending out the call to all of my nobles before I leave here.  Loghain will meet me with the army.”

“Is it a good idea to leave Loghain as the head of your army when you’re trying to divorce his daughter?” Maeve had been schooled in politics and military science both by her tutor and at the Callenhad University, one of Ferelden’s most prestigious schools of higher learning.

“I’m sure he’ll be unhappy about that,” Cailan agreed.  “But he was my father’s closest friend and he speaks very fondly of my mother.  He won’t hurt me.  Let’s not talk of such dire things, my lady.  Why don’t we take a walk in your gardens before dinner and I’ll be happy to distract you from war and politics.”

Did that mean he wouldn’t listen to her ideas and expected her to be an empty headed Orlesian?  Well, no one said she had to actually marry the man.  She knew her mother wouldn’t force her.  She also knew her mother wouldn’t let her just reject the king without giving him a chance.  “Very well,” she stood and let him lead her away.

 

 

Cailan stayed in Highever for two weeks before he continued on to Ostagar.  He made a point of joining the Couslands for every dinner.  He gazed at Maeve across the glowing candelabras.  The flames cast shadows on the walls behind him.  At one point, he could swear that he saw a shadow rise up behind her, it appeared to be that of a large raven.  Then later, it was that of a rose.  None of that distracted from her beauty or wit, though.

For her part, Maeve was growing fonder of Cailan, but she still didn’t love him.  On the last day of his visit, she travelled into the town of Highever with Sir Gilmore.  She looked at her old friend.  “So will you be accompanying Duncan when he leaves with the king to become a Crimson Warden?”

“Duncan isn’t leaving with King Cailan,” Gilmore revealed.  “He is waiting and will go with your father to Ostagar.”

“Is he hoping to find more recruits in the city?”  Maeve questioned as they walked along the cobble sidewalk of the city.  She stopped at the door of a small shop.  There was a cross symbol on the door, along with an eye set in front of a sun.  It was the sign of a Tevene Seer.  She and the local seer, Tara, both thought it funny that the sun was so close to that of the Chantry.

“He is,” Gilmore confirmed.  “He is also hoping to change yours and your father’s minds about you joining the order.”

“I don’t care if I have the Mark, I have no intention of joining,” she scanned the shelves of the tiny shop.  There were bottles with strange liquids and bags with herbs.  “I wonder if Dyrnwyn has figured out his Bloodsucker Bane.”

 “Not yet, my lady,” the shop’s proprietor was in his fifties and dressed impeccably.  He wore a crisp white apron over a black suit and his hessians were well polished.   “I have made progress, though.  I have a copy of my notes right here for you, my lady,” he handed her several papers.

Maeve looked down at them and smiled.  “Thank you.”  She read what he’d done.  “I might have some ideas of something we could try.”  She handed a list to Gilmore.  “Could you pick up a few things for me while I talk to Tara?”  She pulled back a nearby curtain and stepped through the doorway they hid.

“Welcome to my humble shop,” a woman swathed in scarves spoke in an Antivan accent and held out both of her hands.  “I can tell you if…”  She trailed off and her accent was suddenly gone.  “Maeve!  It’s been too long!”

“What is with all of the scarves and that atrocious accent?” Maeve laughed.

“I’m sure you know that the king is in Highever,” Tara sat back down.  “This little get up and the accent, which is superb by the way, attract his men.  I’ve made a tidy profit telling their fortunes.  Well, I tell them the good parts… something bad is coming, Maeve.”

            “The king is at the castle,” Maeve confirmed.  “There is also a Crimson Warden recruiter.  They say there is a Blight coming.  There have been an increase of attacks from the undead and they are sure a vampire king is behind it.”

            Tara paled.  “Are you sure?”  She visibly pulled herself together.  “Well, there is nothing we can do about it.  We will just trust the king and the Crimson Wardens to protect us once again.  Should I read your future?  Perhaps that will tell us how long the war against the vampires will last.”

            “I…” Maeve sighed and sat down.  “Please don’t repeat to anyone what I’m about to tell you.”

            “You know you can trust me,” Tara pouted.  “How long have we been friends?”

            “Seventeen years now,” Maeve admitted.  “It was when our mothers used to go for walks along the coast as they pushed our strollers.  As soon as we could talk, we’d begun planning adventures together.  We were going to get my mother to teach us how to sail and become pirates.”

            “At least we got her to teach us how to sail,” Tara recalled.

            “She never would teach us how to become pirates, though,” Maeve regretted that.  “Maybe I should agree to marry on the condition that she does so.”  Maeve’s mother had turned to piracy during the war with the Orlesians.  She would sail her battleship against the Orlesian Merchant Marines.  The goods she stole went to the rebels and the Orlesians now lay at the bottom of the Waking Sea.  Maker, she loved her mother.

            “Do you have another marriage request?” Tara knew that her friend had already turned down at least five of them.

            “That’s the big secret,” Maeve revealed.  “King Cailan says that he is divorcing Anora MacTir.  He’s been courting me.  He hasn’t proposed, but… I don’t know what I’ll do if he does.  I’m not in love with him, yet he is the king.”

            “I see your problem.  Let’s use the ball today.  I think we need a clearer picture than tea leaves or palm reading will give us,” Tara uncovered a large crystal ball.  “Hmmm…. I do see the king or someone who looks like the king.  There are those in the background moving against him, though.  He has his sword out and his battling something in front of him, but someone approaches from behind with a gun and a knife in their hands.  He needs to be protected from those he calls friend.”

            “Can you see who it is?”  Maeve leaned forward.

            Tara shook her head.  “No, it’s too blurry.  He needs to watch his back, whoever it is.  I see another man, too.  He looks a bit like the king, but doesn’t feel like him.  He’s handsome.  He is holding his hand out to you, offering a different future.  This Crimson Warden recruiter isn’t a handsome blonde man with whisky colored eyes, is he?”

            “No,” Maeve assured her.

            “I do see different races of vampires as well, they are in a horde… somewhere south… it’s near ruins,” Tara continued.  “I’m glad it’s nowhere us.  There is a third man here.  Oh, he’s more handsome than the first two.  He has dark hair and very blue eyes.  Oh, he’s chiseled and rugged.  Maybe you should…”  She near gasped.  “Those fangs and…”  Tara jumped back and stood.  The blood had seeped from her face, leaving it ghastly white.  “That was a vampire… I think it was the Vampire King and he just saw us as well.”

            “You saw the Vampire King?”  Maeve could barely speak.  “You saw him while looking into my future?  I’m not joining the Crimson Wardens.  He would have no reason to come after me.”

            “I…”  Tara stood standing and moved to lean against a nearby bookshelf.  “I’m not sure if that was the future or present.  It was as if he had his own Sight and could see us in this room… now.  There is a connection there, though.  Don’t join them, Maeve.  If you join them, he _will_ be part of your future.”


	3. Roses and Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cailan continues to court Maeve and gives her a present.

Cailan was waiting for Maeve when she returned to the castle.  A light rain had begun on her journey back and it was beginning to pick up.  Yet the king stood with an umbrella held out to her and smiled.  She studied him, he had proven to be kindhearted and attentive the last couple of weeks.  Marrying him was a preferable future than being hunted down by a Vampire King.  “I am glad to see you’ve returned, my lady.”

            “Have you been waiting for me?” She couldn’t help but be flattered.

            “It’s my last day of my visit, I want to spend as much time with you as possible,” he smiled and guided her to the garden, into the area where the nightshade bloomed a beautiful purple and mixed with the blood lotus.  Cailan  pulled her to a nearby gazebo.  “What did you do while in the city?”

            “I bought some herbs,” she told him while he took the umbrella and set it on one of the benches.  “I also have notes from a friend on a new poison we’re trying to develop.  Oh, and I stopped and saw Tara.”

            “Who is Tara?” his voice was teasing, but she detected a hint of jealousy under it.

            “Tara would be my best friend since we were in diapers,” Maeve laughed a bit as he started a little impromptu dance with her around the gazebo.  “She is also a fortune teller.”

            “Really?” He dropped her into a deep dip and left her half upside down, gazing into her eyes.  “Did you talk about me?”

            “Maybe,” she admitted.  From her position, she noticed it was now raining hard.

            “What did she say?” He brought her upright and began guiding her around again.

            “She…”  Maeve didn’t want to talk about what Tara had said.  “She agrees with Duncan that this is a true Blight.”

            “You talked about the Blight?” Cailan frowned.  “How very dull.  Didn’t you ask her about us?  Didn’t she tell you to marry me and run off to Denerim, where our nights would be filled with passion?”

            “What about the Blight?” She questioned.  “We can’t run off to Denerim if the Undead are encroaching on our land.”  She didn’t want to become a Crimson Warden, but she didn’t want her blood drained by one of the creatures of the night, either.

            “You could come to Ostagar with me,” he offered.  “My divorce will be finalized while I am there.  We could have a small ceremony as soon as the paperwork is done or we could wait until we return to Denerim, riding on the laurels of our victory, and have a huge ceremony there.  It would be splendid.”

            She didn’t point out that she had not only not said yes yet, he hadn’t even proposed.  “Who will stay and watch over the people of Highever when my father and Fergus take our men to Ostagar then?”

            “Your mother is more than capable,” he insisted.  “Think about it at least.  While you do, I have a present for you,” he reached under one of the benches and brought out a long box.

            Maeve smiled at him as she opened it.  Inside, was a beautiful long sword.  The hilt was silver with carved roses running along it and along the guard.  The pommel had a cross carved into it.  “It’s beautiful.  She took it out and admired it.”  It was evenly weighted and appeared flawless.  “I love it.”

            “It’s called the Sword of Faith,” Cailan informed her.  “It was said that it once belonged to Mairyn Theirin, the wife of King Calenhad,” Cailan informed her.  “I… she was a talented rogue, like you, and I’d really like you to have it.”

            She noticed the scabbard beside it.  It was also silver with little metal roses running along it.  “Thank you,” she hugged him. 

            “I’m glad you like it,” he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her even closer.  “I hope to soon have the privilege of giving you gifts every day.”

            “I…” she didn’t know where to start.

            “Maeve!”  She turned to see the little boy running through the rain.

            “Oren!”  She couldn’t believe someone had let him run out into the heavy rain alone.  The boy was only four.  She pulled away from Cailan and scooped the boy up.  “What are you doing out here alone?”

            “I volunteered to bring you into dinner,” he told her.  He looked over at Cailan who was watching them from the gazebo.  “Are you going to marry the king?  Mama says you will.”

            She looked back at the man in question.  He had scooped up the box holding her new sword and the umbrella and was running to her.  “I don’t know yet.  What do you think?”

            “I don’t think you should marry him,” Oren laid his cheek against hers.  “If you marry him, you’ll move to Denim,” she knew he meant Denerim.  “Then I won’t get to see you anymore.”

“You can still come and visit,” Cailan held the umbrella over Maeve and Oren.  “You’ll be welcome at the castle.  I let you play with the mabari there and I’ll teach you to ride a horse.”

“We have mabari here,” Oren sniffed.  “And horses, Aunt Maeve and daddy have been teaching me.”

“You ride?” Cailan smiled at her.  Too many of the noble women just used carriages and phaetons, they were unable to ride a horse itself.

“Of course,” she shrugged.  “I like horses and you never know when you are going to need to go where there are no roads.”

“Perhaps I should delay my departure so we can go riding together,” he suggested.

“No, you need to go,” Oren insisted.  “And leave my Maeve here.”

“Oren, I’ll have to marry one day,” she reasoned with the boy. 

“No,” he shook his head.  Then a thought occurred to him.  “You can marry Sir Gilmore.  He won’t ever leave us.”

“He’s going to join the Crimson Wardens,” she confided to him as she carried him inside the castle.  “He has the Mark and Duncan wants him to go with him.”

“Duncan can go stuff it,” he boy harrumphed. 

“Oren!”  Oriana, his mother, had heard the last part.  “We don’t talk about our guests like that!  I told you not to go running off, young man.”

“I went to get Maeve,” he scrambled out of his aunt’s arms to his mother.  “The king wants to take her away.”

“That he does,” Cailan said softly into Maeve’s ear.

“Well, the king has to take care of other matters first,” Oriana glared at the man in question.  “Dinner is ready.  Let’s go.”

“I… I have just been waiting for the… other matter… to be taken care of first,” Cailan mumbled, lamely as he and Maeve followed her sister-in-law.  As they entered the dining room, a large gust of wind forced one of the large bay windows open and blew through the room, extinguishing the candles in the room.  Cailan pulled Maeve protectively into his arms and Oriana picked up Oren.

 “I guess the Maker wanted us to eat in the dark or to invest in the mage lights, or Mage Balls as some are calling them, that are coming out of the mage colleges,” Eleanor gave a little laugh, hoping to lighten the mood, while servants rushed in to relight the candles.  “Everyone sit down so we can get dinner started.  I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m hungry.”

Maeve drew herself back out of Cailan’s embrace and sat down, the rest of those assembled followed suit.

“Are you sure you won’t be joining us on our trip to Ostagar, Bryce?” Cailan questioned over a sirloin beef that was basted with orange juice, rose water, sugar, and a variety of powdered spices.  “Although, I don’t blame you for not wanting to travel away from your chef or your beautiful family.”

“I’ll leave in two weeks,” Bryce promised.  “I have received a letter from Rendon Howe.  He wants to go down together.  He reasoned that, with an increase of undead in Ferelden, it would be safer to travel in as large of a group as possible.  He’s bringing his private army and joining mine.  We’ll then go down to Ostagar to aid you.”

“I don’t expect the battle to take place for another month,” Cailan nodded.  “And I know that you and Rendon are bosom buddies.  I just hope he doesn’t try to talk you into marrying Maeve off to one of his sons again.”

“I’ll decide who I’ll marry,” Maeve’s voice was firm.  “I have no interest in Nate or Thomas.”

“Nate is still trapped in the Free Marches,” Fergus informed her.  “He and his father had a falling out.  He has no plans to come back any time soon.”

“What happened between the Howes?” Cailan hadn’t heard of why the father and son had fallen out.

“I’ll tell you,” Bryce put down his fork.

“You have Rendon Howe’s version,” Fergus shook his head.  “I don’t think we can trust that.  I’ll tell you what Nate told me.”  He began the tale.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thanks to my wonderful beta, Indunasappl.


	4. For Whom the Bean Sidhe Cries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rendon Howe comes to Castle Cousland and Fergus leaves with the Cousland army.

The waiting seemed like an eternity, but she didn’t know what she was waiting for.  Maeve had gone through her training with her sword master earlier, yet she felt like she was just going through the motions.  Now she sat in the library, staring at a book.  It was a history of Queen Mairyn Theirin, the original owner of the sword Cailan had given her.  The woman was quite fascinating.

            “Can you tell me the differences in each type of vampire?” Duncan was grilling his new recruits.  Along with Ser Gilmore, he was taking two villagers; Blain Fields and Caylee Shepherd.  Caylee’s sister, River, also had the Mark, but just said that it wasn’t her time yet.

            “The Cousland Tutor taught us that,” Sir Gilmore recalled.  “But I was never as good at studying lore as Maeve.

            “Really?” Maeve could feel Duncan’s eyes on her.  “Perhaps she would like to teach you.”

            “Not really, no,” Maeve didn’t even look up from her book.

            “Maeve,” Gilmore sat down beside her.  “I know you don’t want to let the Mark dictate your future, but help a fellow out.”

            “Fine,” she snapped her book closed and lifted her cornflower blue eyes to Duncan.  “There are five types of vampire.  The Nosferatu are grotesque looking.  They have pointed ears like elves, but are larger and their features are twisted.  They are weak to silver, but are not repelled by any holy symbols nor does holy water hurt them.  However, they have a keen aversion to mirrors and garlic, as well as salt, crystal grace, and Andraste’s grace.  Some believe that Andraste’s grace may actually hurt them.  No one is sure about their reaction to cold iron as reports are mixed on that.  However, they will be incapacitated if their heart is pierced and die if their head is cut off or their mouths are filled with dirt from holy ground.  I have never understood why anyone would get that close to the mouth and not just cut off their head.  Their bloodthirst is worse than the others and they aren’t as calculating, so it makes them impulsive and easier to out maneuver, especially since they have problems going across running water; as in they can’t.  They are also vulnerable to sunlight and will burn if exposed for more than ten minutes.  To create a Nosferatu they have to drink your blood and you have to drink their blood in exchange.”

            “Very good,” Duncan was obviously impressed.

            “If one wishes to live in a world infested by the creatures of the night, one must learn of their enemies,” Maeve shrugged.  She didn’t see her tutor in a corner, beaming at her.

            “And the rest?” Duncan prompted.

            Maeve let out a long suffering sigh.  Would she have to answer these sorts of questions if she married the king?  “Byronic vampires tend to be very good looking.  They are repelled by holy symbols and holy water will burn them.  They are also repelled by garlic, roses, Andraste’s grace, crystal grace.  While they don’t cast a reflection, they have no problems being around mirrors.  They are killed if their hearts are pierced or their heads are cut off.  They will on occasion seduce their victims.  To create a Byronic vampire mutual blood sucking again occurs, they like the sucking thing.  Would you like me to go on?”

            Duncan nodded.  “Please do,” her old tutor sat down and smugly grinned at Duncan.

            “The third type of heinous dead is the Draugr,” she informed the room.  “They are not pretty, they are basically rotting corpses that like to sink their fangs into people.  As such, they are considered the dumbest of the undead.  Like the Nosferatu, they can not cross running water, although they love crossroads for some reason.  They are not repelled long by holy symbols, although they are by the same flowers as the others.  They appear in mirrors, but are so repellent that no one will have a problem identifying one immediately.  They are very weak against fire and can basically be killed by a candle.  They are also extremely weak against silver and cold iron.  Piercing the heart and taking their head always works.  A musket shot to the front of the head will also kill them.  They are created when those killed by a Draugr rise from their own graves.  Do you really want me to continue or would someone else like to take the other two?”  She looked at the recruits.

            All three recruits shook their heads.

            For a second, Maeve felt sorry for Duncan.  “There are also the Lamiae.  They are dangerous.  They are all female and appear human during the day, the sun doesn’t harm them.  At night, their bodies change to reveal their true nature.  They have the head and torso of a woman, but their lower body is that of a snake.  At night, they will crawl through windows and into nurseries to suck the blood out of young children and infants.  They really suck.  During the day, they seduce men and then take their blood after they… get their seed.  That is also how they reproduce.  They give birth to their own daughters.  This means they are often less likely to be seen on a battle field as they reproduce more slowly.  They are weak against holy symbols, as well as the standard flowers and garlic.  As with all vampires, I would recommend a nice piercing to the heart and a beheading.”

            “They have sex with you before they kill you?”  Blain had his hands over his crotch.

            “You’ll enjoy it until she shows her true nature and kills you,” Maeve assured him.  “You’ll enjoy the last type of vampire as well, the Ubus, Ubi is plural.  The good news is that they are more lovers than fighters.  Well, they are until a Vampire King or Queen appear, then they will fight for them and fight they can.  They include both include succubae and incubi.  They will sneak into the bedrooms of those of the opposite gender and have sex with them. They don’t even kill their victims outright when there is no Blight.  Over the course of a few months of visits they slowly drain the energy from their victims until they die.  At least their victims die happy.  During battle, though, the most powerful ones can drain the souls of nearby persons.  They can survive in sunlight for at least an hour, however they are repelled by all holy symbols as well as the standard flowers and herbs.  They are vulnerable to both silver and cold iron and piercing the heart and chopping off their heads gives you the desired effect of killing them.”

            “You know all of that, you are an accomplished swords woman, and you bear the Mark,” Duncan moved to stand in front of Maeve and leaned towards her.  “I need you, the Crimson Wardens need you, and Ferelden needs you.  You must join us.”

            “Are you threatening to conscript me?” She stood her face just inches from his.  “The law may say that you can conscript whomever you want, but I know several people who would make life difficult for you if you try.”

            “No, my lady,” Duncan backed off.  “I know better than to try and force you to join the Wardens.”

            “My lady,” a servant stepped into the room and bowed.  “Your father would like to see you.  He would like to see you as well, Master Duncan.  He’s waiting in the main hall.”

           

 

            Maeve made her way to the main hall where her father was waiting only to be intercepted by a loud barking as her mabari hound ran to her.  “VanHowling!”  The large, black dog usually stayed in the family wing.  He’d nearly hidden while the king was there, not liking strangers.  Now he was out and about, but she thought they had visitors again, although she supposed Howe wasn’t a stranger.

            When she walked into the hall, VanHowling began to growl.  She followed the source of his ire and spotted her father talking to Rendon Howe.  The dog had never liked Rendon Howe, although he’d been fine with Howe’s children.  Now, though, his hackles were raised and he trembled a bit.

            “You know, Howe,” she reminded him, but VanHowling wasn’t convinced.  “You wanted to speak with me, dad?”

            “When I’m gone, you’ll be in charge of the castle and town,” Bryce announced.

            “I’m not going with you?”  She was surprised, she thought he would push the marriage to the king and Cailan had wanted to see her.

            “Why would your father take you, a vulnerable young woman, near a battle scene?” Howe guffawed.  “I keep my Delilah safe at all times.  Perhaps after we rout those undead at Ostagar, I’ll bring Thomas back here?”

            “How would bringing Thomas back here protect Delilah?”  She could think of no other reason he would suggest bringing his younger son there.  Had no rumors reached him about the king’s intentions towards her?  Perhaps Cailan’s claims of a divorce from Anora and a union to her were assertions only made in Highever.  Had the king been playing with her emotions?  Perhaps it was a good thing that she had yet to give the fickle monarch her affections.

            “Fergus is going to leave for Ostagar tonight,” Bryce informed her.  “I need you to find him and let him know that Rendon and I will not be leaving until tomorrow.  The Howe’s forces have been delayed.

            “Father,” Maeve used a more formal title and tone towards her sire, hoping he would hear her reasoning.  “It is foolish to send the men on a march at night.  That is when the undead tend to appear, as many of them can not abide sunlight.  I also don’t like the idea of splitting any of our forces or sending out our own men when another army is so close by.”

            “Another army?”  Howe laughed.  “Those are my men, it is not like they are a threat to you.”

            “If I were to suggest such a move to any of my professors they would laugh at me and then give me extra studying to ensure I never did such a thing in real life,” she insisted.

            “The professors at your university deal in hypothesis,” Howe dismissed them.  “They are not able to cope in real situations.  If they were, they would be in the military or politics, not teaching.”

            “My decisions are final,” Bryce’s voice was firm.  “I know you’ll be fine taking care of Highever in my absence.”

            “Don’t challenge my abilities or anything,” sarcasm dripped from her tone.

            “And don’t test my patience,” Bryce snapped back.

            “Your Grace,” Duncan had remained silent during the exchange.  However, hearing Maeve talk military strategy made her want her as a recruit even more.  He coughed gently.  “I think you should take Maeve to Ostagar, if not with you than let me take her.”

            “I’ve already told you that I won’t let her be recruited into the Crimson Wardens,” Bryce’s temper was still on edge.  “She has told you the same.”   He calmed down a bit and turned to his friend.  “Rendon, I don’t believe you’ve met Sir Duncan.  Duncan is a Crimson Warden recruiter.  He will be traveling to Ostagar with us.  Duncan, this is Earl Rendon Howe.”

            “You have a Crimson Warden recruiter in Highever?” Howe’s tone raised a half octave and became a bit shaky.

            “He has recruited Sir Gilmore as well as two of my villagers,” Bryce was proud.  “He wanted my Maeve, as well, but he isn’t going to get her.”

            “Maeve bears the Mark?  She’s one of the Chosen Ones?” Howe’s eyes narrowed at her.

            “It will not affect her future,” Bryce was determined of that.  “Now go, pup, and talk to Fergus for me.”

            Maeve said nothing, but walked away with VanHowling at her heels.  He stopped to growl at Howe one more time.

 

            Maeve walked out of the hall, with VanHowling at her feet.  As she walked towards the family wing, she spied a woman standing on the landing leading to the rooms.  The woman had flaming red hair and was wearing all black.  She was crying into a kerchief.  She appeared familiar, but Maeve couldn’t place where.  As the woman continued to sob, her miserable howling reached Maeve’s ears.  It was heartbreaking, yet eerie.

            The youngest Cousland hurried to the woman, but when she rounded a corner the stranger disappeared.  Who had she been?  Behind her, VanHowling growled.

            “What’s wrong, dearest?” Eleanor was now standing behind her, an middle aged woman was with her.

            “Lady Landra,” Maeve greeted the Baroness of Oswin.  “It’s good to see you.”  She was pretty sure that Landra Loren had been drunk the last time she saw her.

            “I’ll be traveling back to Baron Loren’s lands after your father leaves,” Eleanor informed her.

            “My son, Deirren, is around here somewhere,” Landra added.  “He will be accompanying your father to Ostagar.  Oh, here he comes,” she smiled.  “You do remember Deirren.  Look son, I’ve found Maeve.”

            “Deirren,” Maeve smiled at him.  “Are you planning to see Tara before you leave?”  Tara found him sweet and liked his company.

            “The seer,” Landra frowned.  “I’m not sure I want Deirren hanging around her, she is just one step away from being a mage.”

            “You don’t like mages?” Maeve raised an eyebrow.  “There were plenty of people who were bigoted against mages, but she didn’t think her mother would be such good friends with one.”

            “I…”  Landra stammered when she noticed Eleanor frowning at her.  “It’s just that I’d rather him marry a beautiful rogue who can take care of herself, perhaps one that is the daughter of a duke.”

            “Mother’s ambitious,” Deirren smiled sheepishly.

            “Oh, Maeve already has more than one offer of marriage pending,” Eleanor beamed.  “She is not at a point where she is ready to entertain any more of them.”

            “They come from sources more prominent than a baron’s only son?” Landra questioned.

            Maeve shrugged.  “I am the only daughter of a duke.  I’m looking for Fergus right now, father wanted me to say goodbye for him.”

            “So Howe’s men really are delayed?” Eleanor frowned.  “I don’t like this.”

            “Neither do I,” Maeve agreed.  “It would be foolish of us to send our men out when another force is marching towards Highever.”

            “The Howes wouldn’t betray us,” Eleanor’s voice wasn’t as convincing as it could be.

            “Right,” Maeve shook her head.  “Did you see that woman up by the family wing?”

            “The redhead in black?”  Eleanor twisted her hands.  “No, and neither did you.”

            “Mom…”  Maeve was about to point out the contradiction.

            “I love you,” Eleanor leaned in and kissed Maeve’s cheek.  “Remember that.  Go and find Fergus for me.”

            Maeve shook her head, her mother had as bad of a feeling as she did.  She was sure of it, but there was nothing to be done.   She made her way into the family wing to Fergus’ private rooms where she found her brother saying goodbye to his wife and son.

            “Is there really going to be a war, papa?” Oren was asking.  “Will you bring me back a sward?”

            “That’s ‘sword’ Oren,” Fergus crouched in front of his son.  “And I’ll bring you the mightiest one I can find, I promise.  I’ll be back before you know it.”

            “I wish victory was indeed so certain,” Orianna wasn’t convinced.  “My heart is… disquiet.”

            “Don’t frighten the boy, love,” Fergus chastised.  “I speak the truth.”  He stood and turned.  “And here’s my sister to send me off.  Now dry your eyes, love, and wish me well.”

            “Should I go to my rooms until you’re done drying her eyes for her?” Maeve teased.

            “Stay,” Fergus insisted.  “I’d like to say farewell.  That way you can go find some of your handsome suitors to dry your eyes.”

            She giggled.  “They aren’t as many as that.”  She apparently had one less as she was being left behind and neither Howe nor Landra had heard her name connected to that of the king.  She wasn’t sure if she was sad or relieved about that.  “I’ll miss you, Fergus.”

            “If it’s any consolation, I’m sure I’ll freeze in the southern rain and be completely jealous of you up here, warm and safe,” he assured her.

            “I am positively thrilled that   you will be so miserable, sweetheart,” Orianna’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

            “Rain will just mean that the undead can walk around better in the daytime,” Maeve pointed out.  “You will be too busy fending them off to freeze.”

            “At least there’s that,” he agreed.

            “Have we received any word from those already at Ostagar?” She wondered.  She had a bad feeling about the entire situation and the strange, crying redhead had set her off a bit.  Even now she could swear she heard those eerie howls of grief.

            “Word from the south is that the battles have gone well,” Fergus reported.  “King Cailan met up with two separate groups of vampires after her left here.  Both times the enemy was easily thwarted.  There is no evidence that this is a true Blight… just a large raid.”

            “Fergus, Tara saw the Vampire King in her crystal ball only a month ago,” Maeve pointed.  “Only yesterday she thought she caught another glimpse of him.”

            “Which one is true?” Orianna wrung her hands.  “Is this just a large raid or are we facing a Vampire King?”

            “I’ll see for myself soon enough,” Fergus was blasé.  “Pray for me, love, and I’ll be back within a month or two.  I’ll keep father safe and you ladies can plan a big celebration for us when we get back.”

            “Dad sent me to tell you to go on without him,” Maeve informed him.  “He won’t be leaving until tomorrow morning at the soonest.”

            “The Earl Howe’s men are delayed,” Fergus blanched.  “You’d think his men were walking backwards,” he let out a long, put upon sigh.

            “I don’t trust this,” Maeve announced.

            “I’d better get on my way then,” Fergus kissed his son again and then his wife.  “So many vampires to behead, so little time.  I’ll see you soon, my loves.  It won’t be long until we’re back in each other’s arms.”

            “Then go,” Orianna clutched at him.  “The sooner you leave, the sooner I can celebrate your return.”

            “I would have hoped you’d plan to wait to say goodbye to us before leaving,” Bryce said as he walked in with Eleanor.

            “I’ll pray for your safety every day you’re gone, my boy,” Eleanor hugged him. 

            “I’ve told you before mother, that no race of vampire will ever get their fangs in me,” he assured him.

            “May the Maker sustain us and preserve us,” Orianna began to pray over her husband and father-in-law.  “Watch over our sons, husbands, and fathers and bring them safely back to us.”

            Maeve was once again distracted by the voice crying on the wind.  It was the same eerie, grieving sound she had heard since she saw the strange woman.

            “And bring us some ale and tarts,” Fergus added at the end of his wife’s impromptu prayer.  “Err...  I mean for the men, of course” he added at his wife’s venomous look.

            “Fergus!”  Orianna was still scandalized.  “You would talk about tarts in front of your mother.”

            “What’s a tart?” Oren demanded to know.  “Is that an apple that is really sour tasting?”

            “A tart is like an open pastry that contains a filling,” Eleanor quickly told him.

            “Or a woman who wants some filling,” Bryce’s voice was falsetto behind her.

            “Bryce!  Maker’s breath!”  Eleanor gasped.  “It’s like living with a pair of small boys, thank the Maker I have a daughter.”

            Fergus just laughed.  “Oh, I’ll miss you mother.  You’ll take care of her, won’t you, Maeve?  Don’t go marrying anyone before I get back here.”

            “Mother can handle herself,” she reminded Fergus.  “Who do you think taught me how to fight?”

            “It’s true,” Fergus agreed.  “They should send her.  She would scold those vampires right back to their kingdoms in the Deep Roads or they will go running from her and not even notice the sunrise.”

            “I’m glad you think this is funny,” Eleanor grumbled.  “I have a bad feeling about this.  I wish I had Tara’s abilities at divination.”

            Bryce turned to Maeve.  “Pup,” he used his old nickname for her.  “You’ll want to get an early night.  You’ll have plenty to do tomorrow.”

            “Sure, let me just run Highever,” she turned on her heal.  “It looks like I was born with one of two choices, be a steward for my family or join the Crimson Wardens, and Maker forbid I do anything else.”  She held her head high as she went to her room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to my wonderful beta Indunasappl, who is encouraging while keeping me from going to far off the deep end.


	5. Fall of the House of Cousland

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Couslands are betrayed.

Wind whipped around Castle Cousland as lightning flashed and thunder boomed.  Hard rain fell against the glass and stone that protected the House of Cousland.  They were no longer enough, though.  Maeve woke up to screams, thunders, and echoes of gun powder being forced through barrels.  VanHelsing was growling at the door.  “What is it?”

            There was a pounding on her door and then one of the Cousland guards burst in.  “My lady, the castle is under attack!”  Two arrows cut off his words.  She’d seen those arrow fletching before.  They were the ones on Nathaniel Howe’s arrows when he and Fergus would go hunting in the woods.  The castle wasn’t under attack by any undead creatures, it was Howe’s men. 

            She slammed the door shut and ran to her chest, pulling out clothes and quickly putting them on.  She hastily donned a dark red riding outfit with a shorter circle skirt, it was easier to maneuver in than most gowns that were fashionable even in Ferelden, as her modesty depended on the black boots she put on with it.  Thank the Maker she wasn’t an Orlesian whose gowns included too tight corsets and ridiculous bustles.  Then she grabbed her swords.  There was the Sword of Faith and It’ll Do.  It’ll Do was the sword given to her by Fergus for her twelfth birthday.  Their father had commissioned a magnificent sword for Fergus in celebration of his engagement to Orianna.  So Fergus gave her his old sword as a birthday present.  Before then, she’d just used the same swords the guards did.

            Armed, she charged out into the hallway, VanHelsing at her heels.  She side stepped a charging soldier and then swung the Sword of Faith, decapitating him.  At the same time she swung It’ll Do and cut halfway into another Howe soldier.  The thunder outside roared as she looked down at their uniforms.  They were Howe’s all right.

            She then rolled as yet another soldier appeared, a pistol drawn.  She brought her swords up, slicing him in two.  Then she took the flintlock pistol .  The hall was now dark, lit only by flashes of lightning from outside.  She stood and pointed the flintlock.  There was still a shot in the barrel.  Aiming, she shot the only soldier left, the one standing in front of her parents’ door.

            Eleanor ran out into the hall, bow drawn.  “I heard screams.  What’s going on?”  She looked around at the bodies.  These are Howe’s men.”

            Maeve looked behind her mother.  “Where’s dad?”

            “He never came to bed,” Eleanor stepped around the dead, her gaze on the door that led into the family wing.  “You don’t think Howe… this was a trap.”

            “He was just waiting for Fergus and our own men to get far enough away before he attacked,” Maeve agreed.  “There was no delay.”

            “Let’s get the others,” Eleanor’s voice was strained as she looked apprehensively around.

            Their first stop was Fergus’ rooms.  There lay Orianna and Oren.  Orianna’s body was splayed on the floor, but Oren was curled around his now bloody stuffed bear.  Maeve would hunt down Rendon Howe for this and he would pay.  Not just Rendon, every man and woman who worked with allied with him would pay for every drop of blood on that stuffed bear with their own.  She tried to push back her tears and failed to do so when her mother cried out and cradled Oren’s body to her own.

            VanHowling moved to protect the door.  He let out a mourning howl that mixed with the wind and with the mourning cries that Maeve had heard the night before.

            “Oh, my poor Fergus,” she rocked Oren.  “My poor baby.  How could Howe do this?  He isn’t even taking prisoners.”

            “He came to destroy the House of Cousland,” Maeve was sure of it. 

            “We can’t let him,” Eleanor gently laid Oren by his mother, making sure he still had his bear in his arms.  “I’m getting you out,” she informed Maeve.  “He won’t get all my babies this night.”

            Their next stop was the guest rooms.  Lady Landra, her son, and her lady’s maid all lay dead where they’d been cut down.

            “This is my fault,” Eleanor sniffed.  “If she hadn’t come to me.  If we weren’t…”

            “This is Rendon Howe’s fault,” Maeve’s voice was firm.  “That is who is to blame and who will pay for the blood price.”  She turned and opened the door to lead to the rest of the castle.

            Rain was still pouring and the scenes of battle were highlighted by flashes of lightning.  A soldier immediately charged at them, only to be cut down by a vicious swipe from VanHowling who followed up with his teeth.

            The trio cut through Howe’s men, easily dispatching those who had come to massacre the House of Cousland.

            “My ladies!”  A guard ran to them.  “We must flee.  The castle is lost!”

            “Stand your ground, man!”  Maeve’s voice was firm and smooth.  “This is no time to lose your head.  We have to repel Howe’s minions for as long as possible.  Get as many of the guard and servants children out as you can.  They have already killed Oren, I doubt they will spare any of the children in the castle.”

            “I didn’t think of…” Eleanor’s voice trailed off.

            “Don’t worry, mom,” Maeve assured her.  “You have enough to be concerned about.”  She then found another guard and coordinated a rescue attempt for the children.  They were to take the kids out of the secret entrance under the altar in the servant’s chapel.

            They then made their way into the family treasury where they grabbed pouches of coins and health potions.  “Shouldn’t these have been in the healer’s rooms?” Maeve wondered.

            “These are the bottles set aside for family emergencies,” Eleanor explained.  “As is this.”  She went to another chest and opened it.  She withdrew a well-crafted silver and gold sword.  “This is the Sword of Cousland, the family sword.  I want you to escape from here and use this to cut out Rendon Howe’s treacherous heart.”

            “I will do so after I remove his ugly head from his traitorous body,” Maeve took the sword.  “I plan to get you out too, though.”

            “I have to find your father,” that was Eleanor’s only concern.

            “Let’s get to the hall, it’s where he should be,” Maeve led her mother and VanHelsing out of the treasure room.  Eleanor had two arrows in two more of Howe’s men before they had taken a step towards the hall.  VanHelsing happily bit and clawed their enemies as Maeve took head after head, occasionally other body parts and organs, as they made their way through the throng of attackers to the main hall.

            “Maeve!” Gilmore shouted as they stepped in.  “Lady Cousland!”

            VanHowling made a little whine.

            “I’m happy to see you too, VanHowling,” Gilmore was busy smashing his shield into one of Howe’s archers. 

            Eleanor aimed for the hired enchantress at the back of Howe’s force, and hit her dead in the heart.  Her own men cheered and surged forward. 

            Maeve kicked another of Howe’s soldiers below the belt as she cleanly lopped off his head, then followed up the move by plunging one of her swords into his companion’s heart.

            It wasn’t long before the room  was cleared of the invaders, although they could be heard trying to break in.  Sir Gilmore smiled at Maeve and hugged her.  “I’m so glad you’re all right.  When word had reached me that the trespassers had broken through to the family wing, I feared the worst.”

            “I’m happy to see you alive as well,” she hugged him.  “The worst did happen.  Oren is dead.”

            “Oh, Maeve,” he kissed the top of her head.  “I’m so, so sorry.”

            Maeve looked around.  “Where is Sir Duncan, the Crimson Warden recruiter?”

            “I haven’t seen him,” Gilmore admitted.

            “You don’t think he’s in a cahoots with Howe, do you?” Maeve wondered.

            “We need to find Bryce,” Eleanor interrupted them.

            “He was heading for the library,” Gilmore revealed.

            “We’ll go to him,” Maeve hugged her friend again.  “I hope to see you once more.”  Then she headed for the door.  Most families kept the entrance to their crypts in their chapels.  The Couslands, however, loved their library and found that fireplaces and bookshelves were perfect places to hide secret entrances.

 

 

            It only took ten minutes for the last of the Couslands to cut down those who dared get in their way as they ran to the library.  They found Bryce lying before the fireplace, holding his side where a nasty gash bled freely.

            “Daddy!”  Maeve ran to him.

            “Oh, Bryce!”  Eleanor was right behind her.  She launched herself at her husband and gathered him into her arms.  “Bryce stay with me.”

            “His wound is too severe,” Duncan approached the family from behind.

            Maeve stood and pointed the flintlock pistol she had holstered at her side at the Crimson Warden.  “What have you done?”

            Bryce held out a hand to stay her.  “He got me this far, pup.  I’m afraid I was too badly wounded to get any further, though.”

            “I was looking for you,” Duncan admitted.

            “I can take care of myself,” Maeve holstered the pistol.  “Please get my father out of here.”

            “Didn’t you hear him?”  Duncan shook his head.  “He won’t make it.”

            “Then I’ll carry him,” Maeve turned back to her father to do just that.

            “Only if you want to carry me out in pieces, pup,” Bryce flinched.  “I’m not going to make it.”

            “Don’t talk like that,” Eleanor protested.  Her face paled when Bryce moved his hand to show her the severity of the wound.  “Then I’ll stay with you.”

            “Mom, no!” Maeve had already lost her nephew this day; she couldn’t lose her mother, too.  VanHowling leaned against her legs, comfortingly.

            Duncan turned back to Bryce.  “I can get Maeve out, but I need something in return.  There is a Blight coming and Maeve bears the Mark.  I will rescue her, but she must join the Crimson Order.”

            Bryce closed his eyes and nodded.  “Agreed.”

            “What?”  Maeve’s mouth dropped open in an O.  “No!  _I_ do not agree to this.  You can’t make me join your order.”

            “I can and you leave me no choice,” Duncan grabbed her arm.  “I conscript you into the order of the Crimson Wardens.”

            “No!” Maeve protested again.  “I can take care of myself or I’ll just stay here with my parents.  You will not do this to me.”

            “Yes, I will,” Duncan grabbed her and slung her over his shoulder.  Eleanor moved the painting of a Ferelden Frostback Dragon, which caused the fireplace to open and reveal stairs leading down to the crypt.  Duncan just nodded as he carried her daughter away, VanHowling at his heals.

            Eleanor moved back to Bryce.  “We had a good life together and I would never change a single part of it.”

            “I would,” Bryce coughed.  ‘I’d change the last twenty-four hours.  Love, promise me you’ll continue to fight.”

            She looked into his eyes, knowing what he was asking.

 

 

            Maeve kicked against Duncan as he ran down the spiraling staircase into the family crypt.  She glanced back to see VanHowling running after her, but he was no help.  Lifting her head, she could see the remains of her ancestors.  The Cousland dead lay in their niches along the wall.

            “This place is like a maze,” Duncan grumbled as he moved through the chambers.  “How do we get out of here?”  The place was dark, the only light coming from the luminaria.  The old stones and silent skeletons offered him no help.

            Maeve rolled her eyes.  He hadn’t thought of that when he threw her over his shoulder, had he?  Still, if she made him go back at that point, they would both be killed.  “Go through two more chambers and then take a left,” she instructed.  “I know the ways within here.”

            “Of course you do,” he figured she’d probably snuck through there more than once when she was sneaking out with her friends at night.

            “I am a Cousland,” she lifted her head with pride.  “Now put me down.”

            “No,” he kept his grip on her.

            She raised her hand as if seeking help, but none came.  Neither of them noticed one of the skeletons’ heads move to follow their progress.


	6. Some Live to Accuse Them Who Struck the First Blow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A couple of unexpected people escape from the Howes' trap

Sir Gilmore continued to fight in the great hall even after Howe’s men somehow produced a small canon to blast a hole in the main doors.  He killed man after man until he had no one left to defend.  He had to have faith that the Maker ensured that Maeve and Duchess Cousland made it out of the castle alive.

            Continuing to fight his way out, he made his way to the servant’s chapel.  He saw bodies strewn in there of soldiers and children, but not enough.  Even as he clenched his fists and swore to avenge the lives taken, part of him rejoiced that a large portion of those who lived in the castle appeared to have escaped into the city or countryside.

            Someone had pushed the altar back into place, but he saw that it was off enough to be sure that the escape tunnel had been used.  His pushed it aside and quickly descended the stairs.  Then he moved the wrought iron sconce that shifted the altar back into place.

 

 

            Her husband was dead.  That was the foremost thought in Duchess Eleanor Cousland’s mind.  She’d held him as he died, but understood his command.  He wanted her to live, to not give Howe the satisfaction of both of their deaths.  Even now she saw soldiers approaching the library.  Rendon was behind them.

            There had already been soldiers who had peered in on the couple curled into each other’s arms.  Rendon no doubt expected easy prey.

            Eleanor moved quietly as she slipped into a far room.  There was a secret door behind one of the bookshelves.  It led to a secret room, but that room had a second door that would slip into the wine cellar.  From there she could get to the kitchen.  There was a servants' entrance in the kitchen.  She blessed her in-laws who had an unusual fondness for secret entrances and tunnels.  It had saved the family when Orlais had invaded and had saved them again.  Maeve was safe.  It might let her keep her promise to Bryce to keep fighting.

            “Lady Eleanor, you will kiss my feet before you die,” Rendon hadn’t realized that she wasn’t there.

            “Is that what you’re going to tell Loghain when he asks how it happened?”  One bold soldier asked.  “I think you’d better, because she’s gone.”

            “What?”  Rendon roared. 

            Eleanor aimed at the traitor’s heart, only to have one of his men jump in front of him and take the arrow meant for his blackened lump of coal that he dared call a heart.  She cursed silently as she slid into the hidden room.  She was in the cellar when they began shouting for someone to find an assassin.

            She was in the kitchen by the time they started looking for her.


	7. Camping Isn't Such a Good Idea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maeve and Duncan camp on their way to Ostagar

“Do you really think that’s going to protect us if a vampire decides to attack?”  Maeve managed to ask between her sniffles.

            It was the first time she’d talked to him and Duncan felt like a prick.  He’d left the Duke and Duchess of Highever to die and conscripted their daughter.  Yet she was one of the Chosen Ones and the Crimson Wardens needed her.  Stopping the Blight was all that could matter.  He continued to place garlic around their camp and then began to add salt in a circle that was even larger than the garlic.

            “Make sure you make your protective circle big enough for Amanda,” Maeve instructed.

            Duncan looked over to the horses.  He still couldn’t believe that when they’d gotten a hundred feet from the castle, Maeve’s horse had come charging after them.  The feisty mare had somehow kicked her way out of the stables and run after her mistress.  Maeve had greeted her horse with open arms, while the mare had nudged her with concern.  He had thought they’d have to walk to Ostagar or catch a coach, if lucky.  Ferelden only had a few train rails and none of them reached as far south as Ostagar.  The technology was consider too dangerous to use after a small gang of vampires had stored themselves in coffins in a baggage cart, killed all the passengers one night and then attacked the village the conductor stopped at to pick up more passengers.

            After Amanda’s appearance, Maeve had gone into the city of Highever and returned with a stallion named Andrew for him.  She told him that if anything happened to Andrew, she would make him pay.  They’d gotten a lot further than he thought with the horses galloping through much of the day, with VanHowling running beside them.  Maeve had seemed to need the hard ride; it looked as if she were trying to outrun her emotions.

            When he finished with the layers of protection around the camp, he climbed into his tent.  Maeve stayed outside, gazing at the stars.  He doubted she’d be able to sleep that night.  He, however, drifted off easily enough.

            Duncan’s sleep was not as restful as he had hoped.  He found himself in the Deep Roads.  The grand halls that had once belonged to the dwarves now glittered in the lights of thousands of candles.  One of his recruits, Alistair, had once questioned the other Crimson Wardens about how vampires were able to get their hands on so many candles.

            “Duncan, welcome,” he found himself facing a dark haired man, with pale skin who sat on an ornate throne.  He knew instantly that this was the Vampire King.  He drew his sword.

            The man just laughed.  “You have no power here, gryphling.  You know that I’m coming and my people will over run the face of Thedas.  This will be our world.”  He closed his eyes.  “You’re not alone, are you?  You have another little gryphling with you.  They’re… she… is harder to see.  She hasn’t gone through your perverse rituals yet, has she?  It makes her harder to get a clear look at.  Are you bringing her to me?  Is she coming to dinner?  She would be succulent, wouldn’t she…?”  He trailed off.  “I’ve sensed her before.  Where?”

            Duncan didn’t know what the Vampire King meant, but he didn’t like it.  “She’s just a serving girl.”

            “No,” Urthemiel, for it was indeed the new Vampire King, cocked his head.  “No, she isn’t.  I was just going to have my minions kill her and bring you for me to feast on.  Gryphling blood is so much heartier and tastier than the bland little peasants who walk in the daylight and cower from the darkness.  She has the potential to be one of you, though, doesn’t she?  I think I want to see her.  Perhaps I’ll feast on her myself while you watch.  I’ll see you shortly.”

 

 

            Duncan woke to the sounds of battle.  He ran out, in just his trousers, with his sword and shield in his hands.

            The screams were coming from the creatures outside of the circles he’d drawn.  They couldn’t get in.  The horses were backing further into the circle, while Maeve engaged the undead monstrosities in battle.  The Vampire king had done just as he threatened, yet Maeve was proving more than up to the task of defending the camp.  Her swords seemed to sing as she moved; cutting heads off of her opponents.  He’d seen rogues blend into shadows before, but the night made her seem to disappear as she moved as silently as the undead and caught her foes off guard. 

            Sword flashing, Duncan moved out of the circles to help finish off those sent by the Vampire King.  He couldn’t let Maeve have all the fun.  He decapitated a Nosferatu and then engaged a lamia. 

            Maeve stepped out of the shadows, kneed a Byronic Vampire, and took its head.  “Are the horses all right?” She glanced at him.

            He gave a long suffering sigh; the woman obviously loved her horse.  “They’re fine,” he bashed a Draugr before taking its head.  That was the last of the creatures.  “Are you all right?”

            “No, but these creatures didn’t hurt me,” she walked back into the circle.  “I suggest we not try to camp out with a Blight coming.  We can make it to South Reach tomorrow if we go a bit out of our way.  Then we can swing back east to Lothering the next day.  Although, I suggest that we give the horses a rest instead of leaving the next day.  It will take a full day’s ride between the two areas.  If we let them rest again.  We should then be able to make it to Ostagar without too much trouble.”

            “My lady, that would add to our time” he protested.  “I see the logic of your suggestion, but we don’t have time to saunter around Ferelden.”

            “It’s still faster than if we were walking,” she pointed out.  “Which is what we would be doing if you were running everything.  We could probably find some villages with suitable taverns between the larger cities, but you seem to be attracting the undead.  A well-guarded city is a wiser idea.”

            “There are taverns that protect their clients from the undead,” he admitted.  He rubbed the bridge of his nose.  “Many of them even give discounts to Crimson Wardens, as we can be seen as an added protection.  I suppose camping isn’t such a good idea.”  He didn’t admit that he’d just seen the Vampire King in his dreams and been seen.


	8. Evade Eluvians

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dora, the non-Warden Dalish elf, and Tamlen find a mirror.

“I’m going to score the biggest game today, Dora,” Tamlen watched Nymphadora, his closest friend in the world, cautiously walk along the trail.  Her bow was in her hands, at the ready.  She was more than just his closest friend.  He’d fallen hard for her and was still trying to figure out how to bring their relationship to the next level.

            Dora turned towards him, her skirts and scarves flouncing as her golden blonde hair blew in the wind.  They both wore the traditional clothing of their people.  That meant she was dressed in a billowing white blouse, with a simple vest and three tiers of colored skirts, plus a scarf around her middle.  Tamlen had on a similar top and scarf.  Those in the camp would have billowing pants, but his were tighter due to practicality when hunting.  “You wish you were going to get the biggest game.”

            “I wish many things,” he shrugged.  “This will be fact.”

            “Oh, like what?” She wondered.

            “What like what?” He became confused.

            “What types of things do you wish?” She prompted.

            “I wish I were rich, I wish that the undead no longer plagued Thedas, I wish I didn’t need a hunt as an excuse to be alone with you,” he admitted.

            “You don’t need a hunt as an excuse to be alone with me,” she informed him.  She sent him a sweet smile.  “I like being alone with you.  I’ve been trying to get you to ask me for a walk in the moonlight.”

            “I…” He stepped closer to her and kissed her cheek.  “You know the Keeper would never let us go on moonlit walks.  It’s too dangerous.”  The nearby trees creaked, as if reminding them that the forest also held dangers.  “I’ll take you on a picnic tomorrow.  It will be somewhere away from camp.  Just the two of us.”

            “I’d like that, why don’t we…” She trailed off as she spied a large building, or rather the remains of one, in the forest.  Parts of the foundation had been reclaimed by grass and trees, but as they walked through the outline of the outer doors, they found some of the inner building still existed.  “What was this?  I don’t think it’s a Shem building.”  Shem was the Dalish word for humans, although it wasn’t the nicest term they used.

            “It must have belonged to the ancient elves,” he grabbed her hand.  “Let’s check it out.”  He pulled her into the building and then down a flight of stairs he found in the middle.  “Most of this still exists underground.”

            “Who would build underground?” She wondered.  “Don’t they know that the undead are attracted to places with no natural sunlight?”

            “I’ve heard tales that our ancient ancestors did not need to fear their dead,” he revealed.

            “That’s just gibberish from the Shem Chantry,” she insisted.

            “Maybe not, maybe…” His words were cut off by a loud scampering sound.  They both turned to see a giant spider rushing at them.

            Dora quickly put an arrow into a creature and then another and another until it fell.  “Maybe the undead avoid these places because of creatures like that,” she speculated.  “Didn’t Merrill tell us not to go on this hunt at all?”

            “She likes others to think she has the Sight,” he waved off her concern.  “I don’t think she does.”

            “Well I do,” Dora countered, but took Tamlen’s hand and let him guide her deeper into the ruins.

            They continued on for another ten minutes, having to take down another giant spider, before they came to a large room where the walls were made of marble.  There were candelabra scattered around and collecting dust and cobwebs.  There was also a large mosaic in the middle and beyond that a mirror set in a large, arched frame.

            “What is that?” Tamlen wondered.  He slowly approached the mirror.  “It’s beautiful.”

            “Don’t touch it,” she cautioned him.  “We don’t know what it is.”

            “It’s an ancient mirror, one used by our ancestors,” he reasoned.  “There is no reason to fear it.”  He touched the mirror and disappeared.

            “Tamlen!”  There was only one thing to do, she ran to the mirror and put her hand against it.


	9. Fates Always Duel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maeve and Duncan arrive at Ostagar. Maeve meets Alistair

“And like a gift from the Maker, Duncan has returned to us in our hour of need,” Cailan stepped out of the gates of Ostagar to greet his old friend.

            “Your majesty,” Duncan hugged him.

            “My reports say that you are only bringing one recruit with you, but that he is something special,” Cailan recalled that Duncan had had more than one new recruit lined up when he’d left Highever.”

            “ _She_ is something special,” Duncan assured him.

            “I’ve always liked to think so,” Maeve stepped forward.

            “Maeve!” Cailan grabbed her and pulled her into a tight embrace.  “Fergus said you were being left behind in Highever.  I was planning to give your father an earful when he arrived.  Where is he?  He should have been here before Duncan and his new recruit.”  Cailan beamed at Duncan.  “Thank you for bringing her.  Where is your new recruit?  I don’t see them.”

            “Lady Cousland is my new recruit,” Duncan’s words were carefully measured.  “As for Duke Bryce Cousland…”

            “The Howes have betrayed the Couslands, your majesty,” Maeve cut in.  “They attacked us in the middle of the night.  They killed my parents… and Oren and Orianna.  I need to…” She laid her forehead against Cailan’s shoulder, seeking comfort.  “I need to find Fergus and… tell him.  He’s in danger.  I don’t know what Howe had planned to tell you happened, I know that he didn’t expect me to make it out of the castle alive and I expect he has plans for Fergus.”

            “Shhh…” Cailan patted her back.  “He’s out in the woods, scouting with the men.  You can speak to him as soon as he returns.  That forest is dangerous and I don’t want you risking yourself out there.  It’s too dangerous.”

            “What about Howe?”  Maeve pressed.  “What are you going to do about him?”

            “We’ll discuss that as soon as we take care of the horde of undead pressing on Ferelden’s gates,” he assured her.

            “He just destroyed my family!”  Cailan acted like he had feelings for her, but he couldn’t even inconvenience himself to take care of her greatest enemy?

            “Your majesty,” Duncan reminded himself that he had every right to recruit whomever he needed to the Wardens.  “Lady Cousland _is_ my new recruit.  While I agree that it is too dangerous for her to go out into the forest by herself, she may need to go in eventually.”

            “No,” Cailan moved, drawing Maeve further away from Duncan.

            “The law allows me to conscript whomever I need to to the Crimson Wardens,” Duncan reminded him.

            “I can make things very difficult for you, Duncan,” Cailan threatened.  “I have my own plans for Lady Cousland and they don’t involve her joining your order.”

            “Maeve, I need you to go find another Crimson Warden, named Alistair,” Duncan instructed.  “The king and I have battle plans, and other matters, to discuss.  I’ll see you and Alistair by my tent and fire later.”

            Maeve glanced up at Cailan who nodded.  “Very well,” she knew this wasn’t the time or place to press matters further.

            Cailan cupped her cheek.  “I’m elated that you, at least, made it out alive.  I will thank the Maker for that tonight and for many nights to come.”

            “I’ll thank him when Howe is dead,” she turned and walked away.

 

 

            Maeve glanced around the ruins of Ostagar as she walked towards a waiting guard.  She could see the remnants of large arched windows and intricately latticed entryways.  A spire or two had survived on crumbling brick walls.

            “Halt,” a guard called.  She hadn’t even realized that she had made her way to him.  “Oh, you’re Duncan’s new recruit, aren’t you?”  He smiled at her.

            “Duncan thinks so,” she agreed.  “I don’t see how I can get out of it.”

            “Don’t’ you want to become a Crimson Warden?” The guard was flabbergasted.  “If I had been born with the Mark, I would have joined them as soon as I was old enough.”

            “You would have no problem with fate deciding your future for you?” She didn’t like it.

            “I was born to poor farmers and was their fourth child, my lady,” the guard pointed out.  “My choices were to become a farmer and get my own land, to go to the city and work for some rich nob, or to join the army.  I think I picked the best choice for me, but the Crimson Wardens are heroes and glory lays in that direction.”

            “I don’t suppose you know where a potential glorious hero named Alistair is right now?” She hoped he did, she didn’t want to wonder aimlessly around, looking for a man in a Crimson Warden uniform.

            “He was near the north tower the last time I saw him,” the guard waved in the general direction of the tower.

            “Thanks,” she walked through the gates.  Ostagar was bustling with action.  She was shocked to see a camp with the sign ‘Mage Camp-No Nonocs allowed.  Nonocs was the mage word for those who had no magic abilities what so ever. 

The mages had once been imprisoned in towers by the Chantry, but then King Arland Theirin had changed things.  There was no doubt, in Maeve’s mind, that Arland had been a horrible man.  However, he had done something good for the mages, even if it was inadvertently.  He had wanted to divorce his wife of twenty years, Sophia, so he could marry one of her ladies-in-waiting, Camilla.  The Divine would not grant him an annulment of his marriage, though.  Not only had he been married to Sophia for twenty years, and had a living child by her still, her niece was the Empress of Orlais.  The Chantry’s capital was in Orlais, there was no way the Divine would anger her just to make an unpopular king in Ferelden happy.

So Arland had split from the Chantry and formed his own church, freeing the mages in Ferelden.  By the time Vanedrin had risen to the throne and brought Ferelden back into the Chantry’s fold, other Andrastian religions had popped up and the Chantry had been forced to loosen their grip on the mages.  The Templars had also broken from the Chantry, but they then negotiated with the rulers of Thedas’ nations.  They became a police force that specialized in fighting rogue mages, but also kept the peace in Thedas’ cities and villages.

She noticed a woman standing under a tree outside of the camp.  She was wearing a long black top with lace on the cuffs and ribbon ties on the side and a black skirt with a copper overskirt that was shorter in the front than the back.  Her black ankle boots were pointy and embroidered on her head was a small black hat with a bit of lacing on the back and copper flowers where the brim met the cap.  The white hair under the cap was thick and lush, even though the color hinted at the woman’s age, so did the fine wrinkles on her ivory skin.  The woman was talking to one of Cailan’s soldiers.  “Do you really think a simple protection spell will help you against a horde of the undead, young man?”

“It couldn’t hurt,” he insisted.  “I don’t relish lying on the battle field with my blood all drained… or worse.  I have a puppy waiting back in Denerim for me; I can’t just die on him.  He’s staying with my ex-girlfriend right now; she doesn’t love him like I do.”

“Very well,” the mage sighed.  “I will see you at eight o’clock tonight.  Do not be late, Corporal…?”

“McGinnis, ma’am,” he answered.  “Corporal Matthew McGinnis.”

“I shall see you then, Corporal McGinnis,” the mage smiled at him and then turned the smile on Maeve.  “You must be Duncan’s new recruit.”

Maeve looked down at her outfit.  She wore a dark green riding habit that brought out her jade green eyes.  The skirt was simple with a green and black plaid.  The jacket was dark green with a black blouse underneath.  The riding hat that sat on her red curls was the same green as the jacket and bore two black feathers. Nothing about it said Crimson Warden.  Besides, how did this mage know Duncan?  Did everyone know Duncan?  “How did you know I was his recruit?”

“He sent word ahead,” the mage shrugged.  “I’m Wynne, a Senior Enchanter of the Kinloch Collective.”

“He sent word?  Cailan didn’t seem to know I was the recruit?” Maeve pointed out.

“Fine, all of Ostagar has been gossiping since they realized that Duncan recruited a noble woman who was being wooed by King Cailan,” Wynne admitted.  “It is quite the scandal, especially with the rumors circulating that Cailan’s lawyers officially signed off on his divorce from Queen Anora two days ago.  He and Duke Loghain were seen having a terrible collie shangles about it.  I must say that Loghain will be delighted by this new development.”

“How does everyone know that I was being wooed by Cailan?” She didn’t think their relationship was a source of gossip around Ferelden. 

“That became evident when he told Duncan he had his own plans for you,” Wynne explained.  “Ostagar is small and the gossip train moves quickly here.  You are the new recruit then.  I’m surprised the Wardens are not afraid of your coloring, child.  Our ancient ancestors believed that those with red hair and green eyes were doomed to rise back up as one of the vampyr.”

“Yes, and they believed that I’ve gotten each of my freckles by sucking the souls out of my victims,” Maeve had heard the superstitions before.  She’d had suitors repeat them to her, before declaring that she was still the most beautiful woman they had seen and how she would grace whatever halls they would inherit.  It was her own inheritance that she was truly attracted them.

“Tell me, child, have you ever seen one of the undead?”  Wynne queried.

“Do you start many conversations like this?” Maeve wondered.  “Yes, I’ve seen a Nosferatu and a Byronic vampire.  She didn’t add the one she’d seen in her dreams twice in the past week.  I must say that the Byronic is much better looking, but both can be felled with a good decapitation.”

Wynne was surprised.  “You have fought them before?”

“Tara and I, Tara was my best friend,” Maeve added.  She hoped Tara had survived the attack on Highever.  “Tara and I snuck out of the castle one night and into the forest.  We must have been about fifteen and just wanted an adventure.  It wasn’t past sunset yet, but the trees cast deep shadows.  The Byronic vampire grabbed Tara.  Luckily, I had gone armed and my mother and sword master were both excellent instructors.  I managed to take the creatures head.  Another time a Nosferatu had gotten into the family crypt.  We keep swords and other weapons hidden in there.  I was with Sir Gilmore and we were able to flank the creature and destroy it.  Plus, Duncan and I were attacked on the way here.  It was just a standard try and break into the camp and kill everything living incident.”

“Then you know what you are fighting here,” Wynne nodded.  “Good.  It is well that you know your enemy.  This battle will not go smoothly for you and I would not want you to feel overwhelmed.  I’m sure Duncan will give you more instruction after he puts you through the Joining.”

“The Joining?”  Maeve had heard of such a ritual, but hoped the rumors were false.  Was it not enough that she was born with the Mark of the Crimson Ones on her belly, did she have to be forced through some bazaar ritual?  “I’m looking for a Crimson Warden named Alistair.  Have you seen him?”  She changed the subject.

“He was by the North Tower when I saw him,” Wynne waved towards the tower.  “You’ll recognize him by his Crimson Warden uniform.  He is also rather a tomato.”

“Really?” So the old mage thought the Crimson Warden was cute.  She’d be the judge of that, she decided as she continued her search.

 

 

By the time she’d made it to the North Tower, Maeve had made her way through the infirmary, where a nurse had warned her to be careful as she was sure two of her patients were Turning (turning into the undead that is).  She’d also met a prisoner who was locked up for desertion who swore he wasn’t deserting (wasn’t that what they all said?).  Now she approached two men arguing.

One of the men was dressed in a long black cloak with a large caplet, a large black hat, and carried a staff. The other wore the uniform of a Crimson Warden soldier.  Wynne had been right, the Warden was a tomato and not just because of his crisp uniform.  The pants were black with red stripes down the side, while the jacket was red with black piping and buttons.  He wasn’t wearing the traditional red and black cap of a Crimson Warden so she could see his short, well styled, reddish blonde hair that seemed to stand up straight in the front.  He had the chiseled jaw that sported a bit of daring stubble.  As she came closer, she noticed his eyes were a golden brown. 

“What is it now?” The mage, the staff made what he was obvious, was demanding to know.  “Haven’t the Crimson Wardens asked more than enough of the Collective?”

“I simply came to deliver a message from the High Priestess,” the man Maeve took to be Alistair responded.  “She desires your presence.  Although, why I do not know.”

“What the High Priestess desires is of no concern to me!”  The mage declared.  “I am busy helping the Crimson Wardens… by the king’s orders, I might add!”

“Should I have asked her to write a letter to you?” Alistair suggested.

“Tell her I will not be harassed in this manner!”  The mage bristled.

“Yes,” Alistair’s voice dripped with sarcasm mixed with humor.  “I was harassing you by delivering a message.”

“Your glibness does you no credit,” the mage insisted.

Maeve thought it did.  She found it oddly charming.  Perhaps she’d had too many men in her life trying to schmooze her.  She liked the glibness and sarcastic humor.

“And here I thought we were getting along so well,” Alistair tsked.  “I was even going to name one of my children after you… the grumpy one.”

“Enough,” the mage straitened his hat and twirled his staff.  “I will speak to the woman if I must!  Get out of my way, fool!”

Alistair turned to Maeve.  “You know, one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” she agreed.

“It’s like we should get in one big circle and sing Calenhad Fair together,” he laughed.  “Wait, we haven’t met, have we?  I don’t suppose you’d happen to be another mage?”

She found herself wondering how he’d sound singing Calenhad Fair.  “Would that make your day worse?”  She had no occult abilities, though.  She was truly a nonoc.

“Hardly,” he assured her.  “I just like to know my chances of being turned into a toad at any given moment.  Wait, I do know who you are.  You’re Duncan’s new recruit, from Highever.  I should have recognized you right away.  I apologize.”

“How would you have recognized me?”  She wondered just how bad the rumors from the gates were.

“Duncan sent word,” Alistair explained.  “He spoke highly of you, both of your abilities and appearance.  Red hair and green eyes aren’t the most usual combination in a Crimson Warden and is usually a sign that… never mind.”

“A sign that I’m doomed to rise back up as one of the hated undead?” She supplied.

“Actually, no,” Alistair waved that off. “That is a silly superstition that was probably started by an Orlesian who was just jealous of a beautiful Ferelden woman. My own grandmother had red hair.  Allow me to introduce myself.  I’m Alistair, the new Crimson Warden, though I guess you knew that already.  As the junior member of the order, I’ll be accompanying you when you prepare for the Joining.”

“What is this Joining that everyone keeps talking about?” She wanted to know.  “Is it some dark, arcane ritual?”

“Honestly, it’s nothing,” he assured her.  “Try not to worry about it.  It will… just distract you.”  He led her to a nearby wrought iron bench and sat.  “So I’m curious.  Have you ever encountered the undead before?”

Why did people keep asking her that?  “I have encountered one on one or two occasions.  How about you?”

“I have,” he admitted.  “The first one I saw was under controlled circumstances.”

“I doubt we’ll have those during the Blight,” she commented.’

“Have what?”  He was a bit confused.

“Controlled circumstances,” she pointed out.

“Then I met them outside of the fortress,” he continued.  “When I fought my first one, I wasn’t prepared for how monstrous it was.  Those fangs and glowing red eyes,” he shuddered.  “I can’t say I’m looking forward to encountering another.  Anyhow,” he stood up.  “Whenever you’re ready, let’s get back to Duncan.  I imagine he’s eager to get things started.”

She continued to sit.  “What was that argument about?”

“With the mage?”  He sat back down.  “The covens and collectives are here at the king’s request and the Chantry doesn’t like that one bit.  Not only do they think that we can win this war with just our faith, they really don’t like having mages around.  I think they resent the fact that they are a reminder of the power they have lost.  They want the mages to feel unwelcome.  It puts me in a bit of an awkward position.  I was once a Templar.”

“Oh,” Maeve knew that, while Templars worked as a police force over all of Thedas’ towns and villages, their primary concern was policing the Mage Covens.  They had once been the mage’s guards before the Chantry lost power and some of the mages still didn’t like having Templars looking over their shoulders.  The Chantry also continued to dislike no longer having a military or police order.

“I’m sure the reverend mother meant it as an insult, sending me as her messenger,” Alistair admitted.  “And the mage picked right up on that.  I never would have agreed to deliver it, but Duncan says we’re to cooperate and get along.  Apparently, they didn’t get the same speech.”

“All fighting will do is give the undead more openings,” she pointed out.  She didn’t add her own resentment at being forced into the fight.  She looked over at him and had to admit that she liked him.  Maybe it was the self-depreciating humor or his openness with her.  “I look forward to working with you.”

“You do?”  He was surprised.  “Huh.  That’s a switch.  If you have any questions, let me know.  Otherwise, lead on.”

“Why do I have to…?”  She trailed off as she saw a man dressed in a black uniform walking aggressively towards her.  His dark, greasy hair was unfashionably long.  His nose reminded her of a hawk, as did his beady little eyes.  There were shadows under those eyes.  She recognized the man at once, Duke Loghain MacTir.  She had no desire to speak with him at the moment, not when she had a feeling the conversation would go to her won relationship with the king.  “Yes, let’s go meet Duncan.”  She stood and walked towards Duncan’s camp.  “How did you become a Crimson Warden?”

“I have only been a Crimson Warden for about six months.  I was training to become a Templar and had been in one of their private boarding schools for years,” Alistair began.  “Before you ask, it _wasn’t_ by choice.  Duncan stopped by shortly before graduation.  He saw that I wasn’t happy.  He already knew that I bore the Mark and figured that my training to fight mages and criminals would double as training to fight the undead.  Now here I am, a proud Crimson Warden.  The head master wouldn’t have let me go if Duncan hadn’t forced the issue.  I’ll always be grateful to him.”

“Excuse me, my lady,” Loghain attempted to interrupt them as they walked by him.  “Alistair,” he seemed to sneer.  “I must speak with you at once, Lady Maeve.”

“We’re late,” Maeve kept walking.  “Duncan wanted to see us.”  She turned her full attention to Alistair, giving Loghain the cut direct.  “So Duncan was willing to take on the Templars to recruit you?”

“He saw how unhappy I was,” Alistair confirmed.  “He wanted to get me out of there or maybe he’s just a good man.”

Maeve couldn’t agree with that last part.  She didn’t want to be a Crimson Warden.  He’d conscripted her, though, and left her parents to die.  She doubted that Alistair would be a sympathetic ear, though.  “Why are the Crimson Wardens needed to fight a Blight?  Can’t we just train others to fight the undead and go on about their lives?  How are we going to stop this Blight?”

“We’ll stop this Blight the same way we stopped the others,” Alistair assured her.  “We’ll invite them to a lovely tea and when they arrive… we’ll throw the windows open!  After all, tea time is during the daytime.”  He laughed at his own humor.  “No, we’ll cut the head off of the snake.  In this case, that means killing the Vampire King or Queen.  According to texts, the most famous Crimson Warden leader, Gaharel, killed the Vampire King Andoral in personal combat during the Battle of Ayesleigh in order to end the last Blight.  Without the Vampire King to command them, they vampires fled back underground.”

“So we have to kill the new Vampire King,” Maeve supposed that made sense.

“Or Queen,” Alistair pointed out.  “The Kings and Queens were Old Gods who have been turned into the undead.”

“It’s a King,” she assured him.  “I… a friend of mine had the Sight, she saw him.”

“Did she bear the Mark?”  Alistair wondered.  “Why would he let her see him?”

“She…”  Maeve didn’t want to tell him that Tara had been looking into her own future.  “I don’t know.  Duncan had already arrived in Highever and proclaimed a Blight was coming, though.  How did he already know that?”

“The Crimson Wardens keep a sort of… watch,” Alistair explained.  “We… feel the vampires when they rise to the surface.  You’ll understand after the Joining, if you… well, you’ll understand.”

If she what?  She didn’t like how concerned he seemed to become when talking about the Joining.  She had a feeling they didn’t sit around, drink, and learn a secret handshake.

“Besides,” he continued.  “People tend to notice with thousands of vampires rise out of the darkness and begin to slaughter innocents.  It’s just a guess, but most notice.”

“What is the big secret about the Joining ritual?”  She pressed.  “Why is it even secret?”

“I wish I could tell you more,” he conceded.  “Maybe ask me again after Duncan speaks to you about it.”

She looked back towards the tower and could swear she felt Loghain still glaring at her.  “How do you think things will go in the battle tomorrow?”  She wondered if she would be fighting, she wasn’t exactly dressed for it.

“I’ll tell you what, it’s Duke Loghain we should be looking towards for a victory,” Alistair declared.  “Cailan just wants his place in history.  The duke is planning the strategy.”  He seemed to notice the way she was looking at him.  “Err… that’s my opinion, anyway.  I guess I should be thankful the king favors us Crimson Wardens, but I know who’s keeping the lid on the pot.”

“You would trust Loghain around the king when Cailan has just divorced Anora?”  She was surprised.  Alistair apparently was not versed well in court intrigue; she hoped he never had to survive there. 

“He… what!”  Alistair stopped walking.  “I haven’t heard about any such thing.  I mean… yes, I saw Cailan and Loghain fighting, but I thought that was about military strategy.”

“Unless I have been duped, he has,” she turned and saw Cailan approaching them.  “Which is it, Your Majesty?  Have I been duped or should you not trust Loghain to plan any strategies for you right now.”

Cailan looked from Maeve to Alistair and back.  “What are you talking about?”


	10. The Spitfire Vs. the Foul Ratbag

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few little tiffs break out in Ostagar

“You seem to be becoming quite chummy with Alistair,” Cailan observed as he led Maeve away from the Crimson Warden.  He hadn’t waited for Alistair’s answer, just taken Maeve’s hand and pulled her away.  He hadn’t spoken again until they were near his tent and surrounded by his guards.

“You know Alistair?” Maeve wondered how the king and the newest Crimson Warden were on a first name basis.  “I just met him today; he is the most junior member of the Crimson Wardens.  We were on our way to rejoin Duncan.”

“What did Duncan want?”  Cailan was obviously not happy.

“I’m not sure,” Maeve folded her arms and gave a half shrug.  “It probably has something to do with the Joining.  Alistair alluded to it several times.  There is something about it that he doesn’t want… doesn’t seem to be allowed… to tell me.”

“Duncan is still determined to put you through the Joining?” Cailan walked a few steps from her and kicked a nearby tree.  “Even after I…”

“After you what?” Maeve pressed.  “My family wasn’t going to even bring me here and those gathered are split on whether or not you divorced Anora.”

“Of course I divorced Anora,” he stormed into his tent and came out with a piece of paper clutched in his hand.  He thrust it at her.  “My copy of my lawyers’ papers, my lady.  I place them in your protection so you will know that I have never lied to you.”

“Nor have I to you,” she countered.  “So why are you so angry with me?”

“I’m not,” he handed her the papers and then took one of her hands.  “I’m angry at the circumstances… and Duncan… and you a bit.  Why did you agree to become a Crimson Warden?”

“I didn’t,” she insisted.  “Duncan conscripted me.  We were near the family’s personal escape tunnels.  My father…”  Even now she couldn’t contain the tears.  “Dad was terribly injured.  He asked Duncan to save me, even though I assured him that I could get out of the castle on my own.  He said he would if I became a Warden.  I still refused.  That’s when he conscripted me.”

“The Crimson Wardens’ treaties allow them to conscript whomever they want,” Cailan admitted.  “They usually leave unwilling nobles alone, though.  They don’t want the repercussions of upsetting those in power.”

“Is there nothing you can do to help me?” She pleaded.

A slow smile spread across Cailan’s face.  He knelt before her.  “Marry me and become my queen.  Let’s do it tonight.  He wouldn’t dare put my wife through the Joining.”

Maeve didn’t know why two faces flashed into her mind.  One was that of Alistair.  The other was of a strange man she’d seen fleetingly in a dream the night before.  She realized that while she didn’t love Cailan, she did at least like him.  That was better than many noble women got when they wed.  Some were only at tolerate when it came to the men they wed.  She nodded.  “Yes, I will…”

“There you are, Cailan,” Loghain was marching towards the King’s Camp.  “Along with the Slattern you seemed to have picked up while in Highever.”

Maeve whirled on him.  “I will not tolerate you calling me such things, Loghain.”  She took off one of her riding gloves and slapped him across the face.  “I demand satisfaction!”

“Do you really want to take me on, little spitfire?” Loghain sneered.  “Are you seeking a quick death, then, instead of having your blood fill the belly of one of your foe?  I will not give you the pleasure.”

Little spitfire?  That was the term that Rendon Howe often used for her, Bryce Cousland’s Little Spitfire.  She registered the fact as she fumed that the man who’d called her a slattern refused her challenge.  “Are you afraid to be humiliated by a woman, meater.”

“Did I come at a bad time, Your Majesty?” Duncan questioned.

Maeve turned and saw that Duncan and Alistair had joined them.  Duncan looked annoyed, but Alistair’s expression was closer to one of amusement.  He was smiling at Maeve.  His smile was infectious, she discovered.  However, her honor had been insulted and her foe refused to show any honor.  “You came just in time for Alistair to be my second, but this pigeon livered man who claims to have been a great war hero has no honor.”

“You are not one to speak of honor, you embrace another woman’s husband and left your family to die,” Loghain pointed out.

“You, foul ratbag,” she lunged at Loghain, only to find herself held back by Cailan. 

“Loghain, I divorced Anora, as you know,” Cailan’s voice was firm.  “If you insult my fiancé again, it will be me you will meet on the field of honor.  Is there a reason you a here?”

“Fiancé?” Alistair looked to Maeve and then Cailan and back.

“So you are marrying her?” Loghain’s voice came through gritted teeth.  “You would humiliate Anora by immediately wedding another.”

“Anora has failed to give me an heir or to even be faithful to our marriage bed,” Cailan carefully pushed Maeve behind him.  “I owe respect to the memory of the affection that we once shared, but she is no longer part of my life.  I’ll talk to you tonight about tomorrow’s strategy.  I know that you want to defeat this horde quickly so you can return to Denerim and take your daughter back to Gwaren where she will be much happier.”

“That is all you have to say about this matter?” Loghain’s eyes narrowed.

“It is,” Cailan agreed. 

Loghain clicked his heels and left.  Maeve watched after him.  “I don’t know how you can still trust him at your back, Your Highness.”

“Cailan,” Cailan corrected her.  “We’ve been over this; he was my parents’ closest friend.  I can trust him.”

“Rendon Howe was my father’s friend,” Maeve countered.

“I must object to this wedding, Your Majesty,” Duncan spoke up.

“Not you, too,” Cailan sighed.  “Maeve is a member of my most powerful family of nobles.  She is talented with the sword, especially dual swords, as well as the harp and the bagpipes.  She can also draw very well and speaks four languages.  Truly, she is accomplished.”

Maeve blushed.  She didn’t know if it was the list of her accomplishments or the fact that he included the bagpipes in the list.  She hadn’t realized he knew she played the bagpipes as well as the harp.   “Thanks.”

“She also bears the Mark and has been conscripted into the Crimson Wardens,” Duncan countered. 

“You conscripted her knowing that I was courting her,” Cailan’s face began to turn red.  “You knew my own intentions towards her and you disregarded them.  If you insist on putting her through the Joining, you will answer to the Crown.  Treaties can be tricky things when word gets out that you are conscripting not just nobles against their wills, but royalty as well.  Think long and hard Duncan.”  He turned to Maeve.  “Go with him now if you must, but you are to drink from no chalices without my say so.”

Maeve again wondered if her life would be so constrained all the time if she married Cailan, he could be quite high handed.  Still, it was a better than many alternatives. She just nodded and kissed him on the cheek.  “Go sooth Loghain’s feathers and I’ll see you later.”

“I will find you at Duncan’s camp,” he grabbed her left hand and slipped a ring on it.

Maeve curled her left hand into a fist as she followed Duncan.  She felt split in two as if two forces of destiny were battling over her and she just had the urge to run.

“You don’t want to be a Crimson Warden?” She could hear the disappointment and disapproval in Alistair’s voice.

She just shook her head and kept walking.


	11. Duncan the Defiant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duncan sends his recruits, including Maeve, into the forest

VanHowling barked happily and ran to his mistress as she approached Duncan’s camp beside Alistair.  Duncan would glance back occasionally to make sure the pair was still there.  They hadn’t said more than a few words to each other since Maeve confirmed that she did not want to become a Crimson Warden.  There were two others waiting for them.

“Good Daveth and Jory are still waiting for us,” Duncan nodded to them.  “We are ready to begin, then.  Are we all done riling up the rest of those at the ruin?”

“I didn’t purposely rile up that mage,” Alistair objected.  “What can I say?  The reverend mother ambushed me.”

“We don’t need to antagonize anyone else against us,” Duncan warned.

“What did ye do, gov’ner?” Daveth’s eyes widened.

“I just…” Alistair began his explanation.

“He didn’t do anything,” Maeve interrupted.  “Duncan’s talking about me.  I’ve challenged Loghain to a duel, but the man is too much of a coward to face me.”

“Did you call the Hero of River Dane a coward to his face?” Jory glanced apprehensively towards the duke in question’s tent. 

“It would have been dishonorable to just call him one behind his back and not to his face,” Maeve gave a very ladylike sniff.

“Now then,” Duncan changed the topic.  “Since you’re all here, we can begin.  You four will be heading into the Korkari wilds to perform two tasks.  The first is to obtain three vials of vampire blood, one for each recruit.”

“You don’t expect us to drink the blood, do you?” Maeve challenged.  “You know what happens if I vampire drinks your blood and then you drink theirs, don’t you?”

“That only happens if you’re already near death,” Duncan assured her.

“Fine,” she pulled out a fan and used it to keep the smoke from Duncan’s fire away from her face.  “And the second task?”

“There was once a Crimson Warden archive in the wild,” Duncan explained.  “It was abandoned long ago, when we could no longer afford to maintain such remote outposts.  It has recently come to our attention that some scrolls have been left behind, magically sealed to protect them.  Alistair, I want you to retrieve these scrolls if you can.”

“How are we supposed to find this archive?” Maeve wondered.  “The trees are thick enough in the Wilds for the vampires to walk in there during daylight.  I doubt we’ll easily be able to see this building.”

“The ruins will be overgrown, but the seal on the chest should still be intact,” Duncan explained.

“So it will be even harder than I just suggested,” Maeve closed her fan and pointed it at him.  Then she opened it and began using it to keep smoke away from her again.

“Alistair will guide you to the area you need to search,” Duncan promised. 

“Why are they so important?” Maeve wondered.  “I need to be back tonight, after all.”

“The scrolls contain treaties, treaties that may prove valuable in the days to come,” Duncan explained.  “Watch over your charges, Alistair.  Return quickly and safely.”

“We will,” Alistair vowed.  “If we don’t, the king will likely have my head… and yours.”

“Then may the Maker over see your path, I will see you when you return,” Duncan glanced nervously towards the king’s tent.

“Why would the king care,” Jory wondered.

“You’ll see if we don’t return on time,” Alistair promised.  He put a hand on Maeve’s back.  Perhaps we should get you changed into something you can fight in.”

“That would be nice,” she agreed.  “But Duncan didn’t give me time to buy new clothes after we left Highever and I was too busy trying to escape with my life to pack a trunk.”

“You’ll be fine,” Alistair decided.  “Let’s go get some horses.”  At least she was in riding clothes.

 

 

The recruits had only been gone for half an hour when King Cailan approached Duncan’s camp, two guards and a serving elf in tow.  He looked around.  “Where is Maeve?”

“I have sent Alistair into the Korkari wilds with the new recruits,” Duncan’s voice was even, although he suspected that Cailan would not be happy.  “They are getting ready for the Joining and recovering lost scrolls.”

“While I don’t like you putting my brother in danger, that doesn’t answer the question as to where my fiancé is,” Cailan’s voice tightened. 

“Alistair is his brother?” the elf hissed at one of the guards, who shrugged.

“She is with him,” Duncan clarified.

“Why?”  Cailan’s voice grew louder.  “She will not be part of your Joining.  She has already stated that she has no wish to become a Crimson Warden.  Why would you put your future queen in danger like this?  You know I would have ordered you to leave her here if I suspected that you had any plans to endanger my fiancé.”

“Alistair is with her and she is one of the Chosen Ones,” Duncan reminded him.  “She’ll be fine.”

“I want to see her as soon as she returns,” Cailan ordered.  “I’ll leave a guard to make sure she is brought to me and not forced through any rituals.  I will also be speaking to the Reverend Mother.  Maeve made her choice; you will not thrust another one on her.”

 


	12. Escaping Denerim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A pair of city elves, who are Chosen Ones, strike out on their own. There was an incident in the alienage.

**Denerim City**

            Cian Tabris hid in the House of Red Jenny.  He’d learned that Red Jenny wasn’t even named Red Jenny.  Rather it was a title.  The man with that title was rarely at the house and he spent most of the time with Nesiara, his fiancé, and an elven child named Sera.

            “How much longer must we stay in here?” Nesiara complained. 

            “We’ll leave after sun down,” Cian promised.  “Sera said the guards don’t seem to be looking for me any longer.”  Cian had done something heinous in the eyes of the Guards of Denerim, although many of the elves in the Alienage had sworn someday they would do it.  He had killed Vaughn Kendall, the son of the local earl.  Vaughn and his friends had… attacked… his cousin Shianni.  They’d taken Nesiara and the other women at their wedding.  Nesiara hadn’t said if anything happened to her, but he’d found Shianni with a torn dress and blood on her hands.  He had taken great pleasure in killing every one of her attackers and doubted he’d regret killing a one of them, not even the day he died would he.  He would always take pleasure in remembering their blood soaking the tiles of the Earl of Denerim’s Estate.

            “You’re the one the guards want,” his fiancé griped.  “I don’t know why I should go.” 

            “Fine, then stay here or go back to the Alienage,” a red haired elf strolled in.

            “Shianni,” Cian held out his arms to his cousin, who embraced him.  “I took credit for all of those kills.  No one is after you.”

            “I can’t let you take the fall for this by yourself,” Shianni shook her head.  “Neither of us did anything wrong.  I’m not going to let you try and make your way in this dangerous world by yourself or with this unskilled bit of muslin,” she indicated Nesiara.

            “I appreciate it, Shianni,” he embraced her.  “I imagine my chances of survival are much higher with you than without.”

            “Of course they are,” she agreed.  “Where did you plan to head?”

            “I was thinking of going towards Ostagar,” Cian admitted.  “The Crimson Wardens might take me, if not I could join the private army of some lord.  With the vampires on the rise, they’ll be needing someone who can use a heavy sword.”

            “Plus, you have the Mark,” Shianni added.  “I’m surprised a Crimson Warden recruiter hasn’t come into the Alienage and scooped you up already.”

            “We haven’t seen a Crimson Warden in the Alienage since long before I was born,” Cian pointed out.  “They would be regretting that you didn’t also have the mark after they saw your skill with the bow and your sharp tongue.”

            “A sharp tongue isn’t a good thing,” his fiancé pointed out.

            “Boy, the elder wanted you to have a boring life when he matched you two up,” Shianni decided.  “Besides,” she moved her shawl and held out her arm, as if he could see her blouse sleeve.  It was so threadbare that he almost could.  “I do have the Mark.  My parents didn’t want anyone to know and kept it secret.  They were afraid the earl would discover the secret and sell me to the Wardens.”

            “Your kind attracts the undead,” Nesiara stepped back from the pair.  “I’m going back to the Alienage where I’m safe.”

            “You both have the mark?”  The child, Sera, came into the room.  “That is so neat.  Can I see them?”  Shianni held out her arm and Sera tried to see through the sleeve.

            “Go ahead,” Cian shrugged.  “Vaughn is dead.  I’m sure you can handle the earl when he returns from Ostagar and wants to know what happened.”  He doubted she could, but she would be a hindrance when on the run.  “Sera?”

            The girl grinned.  “Everything’s good to go, gov’ner,” she declared.  “I’ll have you safely out of the city.  Then you can decide how to get into trouble from there.  First, I want to see where your mark is.”

            Cian sighed and opened the top of his shirt to show her.


	13. Into the Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The recruits get through the Forest of Korcari Forest, only to face a Witch of the Wilds.

Maeve listened to trees creek as she rode through the forest that was called the Korcari Wilds.  They were thin and twisted and seemed to speak to each other.  As she looked up the path, she could see a mist rising.  “What a lovely place.”  She was only being half sarcastic.  While there was a menace to the trees, there was also an beauty that spoke of ancient times and a disconnect from kings and orders who wanted to control her life.

            “We could build a cabin in here and enjoy the trees all the time,” Alistair commented.  “It would be peaceful.”

            “Please tell me you two are joking,” Jory pleaded.

            “We wouldn’t have to worry about the undead,” Alistair continued.  “I can sense them coming.”

            “See there, Sir Knight,” Daveth grinned.  “You’ll have all of your blood drained by an unholy creature and die, but you’ll see them coming.”

            “I’m not saying that I’m a coward, but I have a healthy respect for the undead,” Jory glanced nervously around.

            “You sound scared to me,” Daveth countered.  “I’m afraid of the creatures as well, but it does us no good to dwell on them.”

            “We all have a respectful fear of the creatures,” Alistair tried to sooth the recruit.  “No one’s saying you’re a coward.”

            “I’m not one!” Jory’s voice rose in both volume and octave.

            “Really?”  Maeve petted her horse’s neck.  “I’m the only woman here and I’m somehow the bravest one of us all.”

            “I know that I’m counting on you to protect me,” Alistair agreed.  His voice was only half serious and he gave her self-depreciating smile.

            Maeve found herself blushing and wanting to giggle like a school girl.  She returned the smile. 

            Suddenly, Alistair’s smile was gone.  “Vampires.”

            Maeve cocked her head.  Sure enough, one of the creatures was trying to sneak behind them, while two more approached from the front.  She did a back flip off of her horse and came up with both blades unsheathed.  She quickly engaged the nosferatu that was closing in on her horse.  No one threatened her horse.  The creature feinted back, but she managed to nick it’s side.  The creature hissed and backed up further.  She wasn’t sure if it was running from her or running to some of its buddies. 

            Alistair had engaged the other vampire in front of him.  It was a succubus.  The creature was wearing a filmy gown and was giving him a mewling look, as she ran her hand down her front sideways, starting between her breasts.  “You don’t want to hurt me,” she pouted.

            “Yes, I do,” Alistair didn’t even hesitate as he bashed the creature with his shield.  She flew into the nosferatu that Maeve was fighting.  It disoriented the nosferatu long enough for Maeve to move in and slice off its head with the Sword of Faith.

            Alistair was beside her, driving his sword into the heart of the succubus.  He finished the creature by taking her head.

            The pair turned back to see Daveth and Jory facing off against the third vampire.  It was a Byronic, with wavy blonde hair and sapphire eyes.  His features were chiseled, yet there was a pair of sharp fangs exposed as it held Daveth off of the ground.  He couldn’t manage to bite his struggling prey, though, because Jory was hitting him across the back of his head with his shield.

            “Dinner is cancelled for you, good Sir,” Alistair brought his sword down across the vampire’s wrist.  He lost the hand and Daveth both.  That gave Jory the opening to stab at his heart through the back.  He wasn’t sure if he hit the heart, but Alistair and Maeve were both swinging at its neck.  Their swords touched at the halfway point and the pair smiled at each other as the head rolled into the trees.

            “See, we have nothing to worry about,” Daveth stumbled back to his horse while the others filled three vials with blood from their attackers.

            “Nice work with the sword,” Maeve admired Alistair’s battle performance.  “What do you call it?”

            “It is called Sir Pointy,” he mounted back on his horse.  “And yours?  They are both very nice swords.”

            “One is the Sword of Cousland,” she easily got back up on her horse.  “The other is the Sword of Faith.”

            “I’m from Highever,” Jory interrupted.  “Our duke’s name is Cousland and that is what his family sword is called, the Sword of Cousland, that is.  I’m sorry, but you must have a fake, my lady.”

            “No, I don’t,” she led her horse forward.  “I’m also from Highever and it _is_ the Sword of Cousland.  It was passed down to me, as my father was Duke Bryce Cousland.”

            “Was?” Jory seemed confused.  “Did something happen to the duke?”

            “When’s the last time you heard from home?” Maeve questioned.  “If you left any family behind, you might want to check on them.”

            “I left my wife in the city,” his voice raised yet another octave.  “She’s with child.”

            “Ask Duncan for leave as soon as you can,” Maeve instructed.  “If I haven’t made it back to Highever with an army, you might want to get her out.”

 

 

            They ran into four more groups of undead before they, finally, came to a clearing.  In the clearing were crumbling walls and loose bricks.  There were only traces of the original outpost.  In the middle of a green field, though, was an old rusting chest.

            “Do you think parchment would survive in an chest like that for hundreds of years?” Daveth scowled at the chest.

            “Let’s hope they were made from a nice leather or other durable substance,” Maeve slipped from her horse and approached the chest.

            “Well, well, what have we here?”  Maeve turned towards the speaker.  A woman stood on a ramp that led up to a door in the ruin.  Her dark hair was uncovered and pulled back and clipped up off of her neck.  She wore a scandalous deep plunging cowl vest in burgundy and a black leather plated skirt that was too short to be in fashion.  She also wore long black gloves and high black boots.  “Are you a vulture, I wonder?  I scavenger poking amidst a corpse whose bones were long since cleaned?  Or merely an intruder come into this vampire infested forest and clearings of mine in search of easy prey?”  She crossed her arms.  “What say you? Hmm?  Scavenger or intruder?

            “I can see her belly button,” Jory’s face turned beat red.

            “Her ankles are fully concealed, Sir Knight,” Daveth pointed out.  “There is nothing there that I haven’t seen before among the strumpets of Denerim as they ply their wares in the back alleys.”

            “Art thou calling me a tramp?”  The newcomer turned her gaze upon the men.

            Both of them took a step back.

            “This was a Crimson Warden Tower,” Maeve pointed out.  “I am with a Crimson Warden and two of his recruits.”

            “’Tis a tower no longer,” the woman countered.  “The forest and wilds have obviously claimed this desiccated corpse.  I have watched you particularly,” she informed Maeve.  “I watched thee and thy men’s progress for some time.  I didst wonder where did you go, why are you here?  And now you disturb ashes none have touched for so long.  Why is that?”

            “Don’t answer her,” Alistair cautioned.  “She looks Chasind and that means others of their kind may be nearby.”  The Chasind were a group who had rejected the trappings of civilization and the confines of the city to return to nature, as they believed the Maker intended to be one with His creations.           

            “You fear the uncivilized masses will swoop down upon you!”  The woman’s voice mocked Alistair and she threw her hands up to mimic his unreasonable caution.

            “Yes,” Alistair narrowed his eyes at her.  “Swooping is bad.”

            “She’s a Witch of the Wilds, she is,” Daveth’s voice quivered.  “She’ll turn us into toads!”  A Witch of the Wilds was similar to a Chasind and often lived comfortably around them.  They were mages who rejected not only the confines of civilization, but that of the Templar Police Force.  They believed they should embrace nature and answer only to those gods who could be found among the trees and rivers.  They were the type of witches who were also most often found as villainesses in children’s stories.  Many a Thedosian child had been taught to fear them.

            “Witch of the Wilds?” The witch laughed.  “Such idle fancies, those legends, have you know minds of your own?  You there, lovely woman who seems to have become the leader of these rabble, tell me thy name and I shall tell you mine.  Let us be civil.”

            “I am Maeve Cousland, of the Highever Couslands,” Maeve gave her a little curtsy.  “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

            “Now that is a proper civil greeting, even in the Wilds,” the witch approved.  “You may call me Morrigan.”

            “You have no last name?” Maeve was surprised.

            “I have grown in these wilds, where such things are not needed,” Morrigan pointed out.  “If you must give me another name you may call me Morrigan Flemsdatir.  Shall I guess your purpose?  You sought something in that chest, something that is there no longer?”

            “No longer there?  You stole them didn’t you?” Alistair accused.  “You’re some kind of… sneaky… witch-thief!”

            “How very eloquent,” there was a condescending undertone to Morrigan’s words.  “How does one steal from dead men?”

            “Quite easily it seems,” Alistair admitted.

            “I know that I always found it easier to pick pocket from dead men,” Daveth admitted.

            “Those documents are Crimson Warden property, and I suggest you return them,” Alistair continued.

            “I will not,” Morrigan declared.  “For ‘twas not I who removed them.  Invoke a name means nothing here any longer if you wish; I am not threatened.”

            “Who did remove them then?” Maeve interrupted the quarreling pair.

            Morrigan uncrossed her arms.  “’Twas my mother in fact.”

            “Could you take us to your mother?” Maeve asked.  She wanted to get this whole document thing taken care of and get back to Ostagar before full night had fallen.  There was to be a full moon that night and there were rumors of werewolves in the Korkari forests.  She didn’t want to deal with those on top of the vampires.  Then again, she’d heard the two groups seemed to be natural enemies and might be too busy fighting each other to care about them.

            “There is a sensible request.  I like you,” Morrigan decided.

            “I’d be careful, if I were you,” Alistair cautioned.  “First it’s ‘I like you’, but then zap; it’s frog time.”

            “She’ll put us all in the pot, she will,” Daveth was sure of it.  “Just you watch.”

            “If the pot’s warmer than this forest, it’d be a nice change,” Jory decided.

            “Follow me then, if it pleases you,” Morrigan turned and led them back into the trees.

 

 

            It was half an hour before the group found themselves in another clearing.  This one had a small thatch cottage that had been circled by Andraste’s Grace, as well as Crystal Grace, flowers that bloomed magnificently, filling the air with their fragrance.  An old woman stood outside the cottage.

            “Greetings mother,” Morrigan approached the old woman.  “I bring before you four Crimson Wardens who…”

            “I see them, girl,” the old woman cut her off.  “Mm… much as I expected.  Except this one,” she pointed out Maeve.  She doesn’t wear the uniform of a Crimson Warden.”

            “Nor do I plan to,” Maeve declared.  “I’m just along for the ride right now.”

            “Well, fate has a way of altering our plans,” the elderly woman laughed.

            “Are we supposed to believe you were expecting us?” Alistair’s disbelief was only half the reason for his interjection.  He didn’t like the talk of whether or not Maeve would join the Crimson Wardens.  He didn’t understand why anyone would resist their Calling and part of him rankled at the fact that Cailan’s position let him easily persuade the woman in question to marry him.

            “You are required to do nothing, least of all believe” the old woman declared.  “Shut one’s eyes tight or open one’s arms wide… either way, one’s a fool.”

            “She’s a witch, I tell you,” Daveth still insisted.  “We shouldn’t be talking to her!”

            “Quiet, Daveth!”  Jory warned.  “If she’s really a witch, do you want to make her mad?”

            “There’s a smart lad,” the old woman complimented him.  “Sadly irrelevant to the larger scheme of things, but it is not I who decides.  Believe whatever you will.  And what of you?”  She approached Maeve.  “Do you propose a different viewpoint?  Do you believe as others do?”

            “I don’t know what to believe,” Maeve admitted.  “I’ve railed against fate for much of my life; I guess you could call me a fool.  For no matter how much I shake my fists in defiance, it seems fate has its own plans for me.  My life is not my own, no matter how much I wish it to be.”

            “You are right, ‘tis not,” the old woman’s voice became more sympathetic.  “You have choices in your path, but no matter how much you turn from what fate wants from you it will find a way to guide you back to that path.”

            “They did not come to listen to your wild tales, mother,” Morrigan insisted.

            “True,” Morrigan’s mother smiled at the Crimson Wardens.  “They came for their treaties, yes?  And before you begin barking, your precious seals wore off long ago.  I have protected these.”

            “You…”  Alistair’s tone went from accusing, to one more humble.  “Oh, you protected them?”

            “And why not?” The old woman questioned.  “Take them to your Crimson Wardens and tell them this Blight’s threat is greater than they realize.”  She handed the treaties to Alistair.

            “What do you mean it is even greater than they realize?” Maeve wondered.  “How can it be even greater?  There is a Vampire King on the move against Ferelden.”

            “Either the threat is even more or they realize even less,” the old woman chuckled.  “Or perhaps the threat is nothing!  Or they realize nothing!  Oh do not mind me,” she laughed again.  “You have what you came for.”

            “Time for you to go then,” Morrigan declared.

            “But I have more questions about this Blight,” Maeve dissented.  “I have a friend… she saw the Vampire King in her crystal ball.  I know this to be a Blight.  Is there more you can tell us?”

            “You hang out with seers?” Daveth looked at Maeve as if she’d grown a second head.  “Do you always live so dangerously?”

            “Your friend’s talents have not failed her,” was all the old woman would say.  She turned to her daughter.  “Now don’t be rude Morrigan, these our your guests.”

            “Oh, very well,” Morrigan was obviously put upon.  “I will show you out of the woods.  Follow me.”  She walked back into the trees; the Crimson Wardens had no option, but to follow.


	14. The Chalice or the Crown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a bunch of battle planning, a Joining, and a wedding.

“I’m glad that Witch of the Wilds didn’t want to come into Ostagar itself with us,” Daveth proclaimed as they went back through the gates.

            “Duncan wanted to see us upon our return,” Alistair reminded them.  “We need to get to his camp.”

            “Do you always do what Duncan tells you?”  Maeve wondered.  He still had VanHowling with him, but she didn’t want to face Duncan again.  She didn’t really want to go find Cailan immediately either.  She would have liked to explore the old ruins and thought it would be even more fun to do so with Alistair.

            “Generally, I do, yes,” Alistair admitted.  “He is my mentor, after all.”

            Maeve grabbed his hand and started guiding him towards the ruins.  “Why don’t we…”

            “Come on,” he used her grip on her hand to pull her towards Duncan’s tent.

            “There you are, darling,” Cailan intercepted them.

            “Cailan!”  She dropped Alistair’s hand.

            “Your Majesty!”  Sir Jory genuflected before his king.

            “I went looking for you and discovered that Duncan had sent you out into the Korcari Forest.  Why didn’t you come to me immediately, instead?”

            “I knew I’d be fine,” she pointed out.  “I can take care of myself, Cailan.”

            “Of course you can,” he put an arm around her and guided her to Duncan’s camp.  “I just had other things I wanted to take care of.”  He turned her to face him and put a hand on her cheek.  “He wants to put you through the Joining.  Apparently, your being my fiancé is not enough to stop him.  That’s why I believe we should get married tonight.”

            “Tonight?”  Everything was happening so fast.  She saw Alistair storm past her to go talk to Duncan.  “I… what about the marriage license?”

            “We have representatives from the Chantry right here,” the king reminded her.  “I’ve taken care of everything.  I even found a dress for you to wear.  Come on.”  He led her to the guards and elven servants.  VanHowling was sitting between the guards and yipped happily when he saw his mistress.  “Illia?”  Cailan smiled at the elf.

            The elf was holding a long bag.  She untied it to reveal a long white dress with black trim.  The lacing on the back as well as the lace was black.  The sleeves were three-fourths long and sported the same black lace, as did the lifts in it’s the top two of its three layers.  The lifts were held by onyx jewels and the neck held the right amount of scandal as it came just off of the shoulder.

            “It’s beautiful,” Maeve ran a single finger along some of the lace.  “How did you get it here?”

            “I pulled a lot of strings with the mages,” he admitted.  “I already have the marriage papers drafted.  A reverend mother is waiting.  We can have her perform the ceremony near the south tower, where it looks over the forest.  I think it’s pretty there.  We can then have a huge reception when we return to Denerim.”

            Maeve continued to gaze at the dress.  There was something about the Joining that Alistair didn’t want to tell her and she had no doubt that the vampire blood was part of it.  Being Queen of Ferelden was definitely a more pleasant fate.  She leaned in and kissed Cailan, his lips were soft and gentle.  “Tell the reverend mother to get ready.  Is there a place for me to prepare?”

            “Illia will take you to my tent to dress while I talk to the reverend mother,” he leaned in and kissed her again.  “I’ll come and fetch you as soon as I can.”

           

 

            When Cailan did come to fetch his bride, she was dressed and Illia was placing the final touches on her hair.  She had created two braids in Maeve’s hair, running black ribbon through them, and wound them around her head after she piled half of the bride's curls onto the back of her head.  The rest of her bright red curls cascaded down around her.

            “You…” Cailan choked up for a second.  “You are not just the most beautiful woman in Ferelden; you are the most beautiful woman in all of Thedas.”

            “Thank you,” she stood still as Illia placed a black lace choker around her neck.  In the middle of the choker was an onyx stone set in silver.  A small silver cross hung from it.  “Your Maj… Cailan,” he took a deep breath.  Poor Illia was having an apoplexy if she messed up her makeup.  “I…”  She took a deep breath and then waited as a long veil trimmed in black lace was set on her head.  “We haven’t found Fergus.”

            “I know,” he cupped her cheek.  “I know you would have wanted him to be here.  We’ll make sure he’s at our reception.”

            He understood the worse of her upset.  “I have no one to give me away.  I doubt Duncan would do it, he’s busy putting his recruits through the Joining.”

            Cailan placed a light kiss on her forehead and then her lips.  “I’m the king and I’m taking what I want.  Perhaps that is the image we should present to our people.  I shall escort my own bride.”  He took her hand and then placed it on his arm as he led her to the south tower.

            A crowd had already gathered at the tower and they cheered as they saw the king and his intended bride approaching.  The reverend mother smiled indulgently at them.  Maeve stood before the holy woman as Cailan spoke to her urgently, explaining about the recent tragedy the Couslands had faced.  The tower was Oswickian in style, with its intricate carvings vaulted arches.  They stood framed by the forest, as if the trees themselves bore witness to the union, and the bright, full moon poked out from the clouds above.

            Cailan came back to her side and took her hands as the reverend mother blessed the union.  In the background, wolves howled and an owl screeched in the distance.  Her groom’s smile was infectious and she couldn’t help but smile in return.  A movement at the back of the crowd caught her attention; something had disturbed some of those gathered.  Had Loghain come to stop the ceremony?

            It wasn’t Loghain, it was Duncan and Alistair.  Jory and Daveth were nowhere to be seen.  Duncan looked peeved off.  Alistair, on the other hand, was sad.  There was pain in his eyes.  Maeve found herself wanting to go to him and comfort him.  A squeeze on her hands brought her attention back to the man she should have been paying attention to.  She gave him a half smile and listened to the reverend mother drone on.  She then dutifully repeated words when instructed, binding her life to the king’s.

            When the ceremony was done, Cailan leaned forward and kissed her.  The audience, excluding the two Grey Wardens and a very upset general, cheered.

 

 

After signing a registry and a lot of paperwork, Cailan and Maeve stood together, accepting the congratulations of those who had gathered to witness their union.

            “I’m sorry that we’ll have to cut the celebration short,” Cailan murmured to Maeve.  “At least we’ll have to take a break from it.  Loghain and Duncan want to discuss our strategy for tomorrow.  You’ll accompany to the meeting, of course.”

            “I still don’t think we can trust either one of them,” Maeve’s voice was quiet, for his ears only.

            “They’re my closest friends,” Cailan insisted.  “I trust them with my life.”

            “I don’t,” she countered.  She smiled at the next well-wisher.

 

 

            It seemed like an hour of smiling prettily, before Cailan finally led Maeve away from those who insisted on congratulating them on their wedding.  He led her to the North West and then down a ramp.  Loghain was already behind a long table and glaring at them.  Duncan and Alistair were standing on the opposite side of the table; once again Maeve noticed Jowan and Daveth’s absence.

            “Your Majesty, I must protest yet again,” Loghain hissed.

            “I’m sure you have a lot to protest,” Maeve’s words were cold.  She could feel daggers shooting from his eyes at her and didn’t blame him.  She’d just usurped his daughter’s place and was still wearing the vestments of that usurpation.  Duncan let out an exasperated breath and Alistair put a hand in front of his face, Maeve realized he was hiding a smile.  Too bad, she liked his smile. 

            “That I do,” Loghain assured her.

            Maeve again noted the absence of both Jory and Daveth.  “Where are your recruits, Sir Duncan?  Jory would be delighted to participate in a strategy meeting.  Duncan said nothing, his expression as stony, almost more so, than Loghain’s.  Alistair blanched.  Duncan took out a pair of spectacles and began cleaning them.

            “I didn’t know you needed spectacles, Sir Duncan,” Maeve commented.

            “They are just for reading, my lady… I mean Your Highness,” he used her new title.

            “Alistair may I speak with you alone for a moment?” Maeve had a feeling she’d get more answers out of him.

            “Of course, my lady,” he didn’t correct himself.

            “I want you here by my side, darling,” Cailan protested.

            “We’ll only be a second,” she kissed his cheek and then whispered.  “I need some answers, I’ll be right back.”

            “Um…”  Alistair hesitated.  He looked to Duncan, who was glowering and making a funny clicking noise with his tongue.  Then his gaze went to Cailan who seemed to be conveying threats in his gaze.  “OK.”  He walked off to a nearby crumbling fence that once kept those in Ostagar from falling to the forest floor below.  “What’s wrong, my lady?”

            “Didn’t you used to call me Maeve?” She flashed a half smirk at him.  She didn’t like him going all formal on her.

            “For the one whole day that we’ve known each other…”  He stopped.  “Has it really only been a day?  It feels longer.”

            “Great thanks,” she muttered.

            “No!”  His words had picked up speed.  “I mean… I like knowing you… I mean, it hasn’t been a hardship, it’s been pleasant.  Although, not too pleasant.  You’re a married lady now and I don’t want you to think… that I’m…”  He continued to stumble a bit.

            He was backing off from their friendship because she was married?  She hoped not, she liked his bad jokes, his humor, and his bravery.  She wanted to keep him as a friend.  “Yes, I’m married now.  I thought I was allowed to still have male friends, though.”

            “Of course you are,” he was talking even faster now.  “And we _are_ … friends that is.”

            “Good,” she smiled at him.  “I saw you and Duncan at the wedding, but not Jory or Daveth.  They aren’t here now, either.  Where are they?  Were they sent to the rest of the Grey Warden’s camp?  Aren’t they outside of Ostagar, keeping the undead from sneaking in?”

            “They,” he hesitated and took her hands.  “They’re in the Chantry Pile, waiting for their last rights before they are thrown on the funeral pyre for our fallen dead.”

            Maeve took a step back.  “Why?  They weren’t killed in the wilds.”  Her face grew pale.  “It was the Joining, wasn’t it?  Whatever it was that you guys wanted to do to me, killed Jory and Daveth!  We’re Chosen Ones, yet whatever you did to them killed them.  They’re dead and you wanted me to die, too?”

            “ _NO_!”  The mere thought caused horror to spread on Alistair’s face.  “All Crimson Wardens have gone through the Joining.  There was no reason to think you wouldn’t survive it.  We only lost one person when I went through mine.  The Joining, the potion for the ritual, was stolen from the Vampire Kings during the First Blight.  The recipe is to enhance a Chosen One’s powers and is to be given to the Vampire King or Queen’s mate.  We… the original Chosen Ones who stole the recipe to create the first Crimson Wardens were unable to write down the ingredients and only knew of them from the potential mate of the first Vampire King.  The recipe worked, but something was off and not all survive.  We might have only lost Daveth if things had been different.”

            “What do you mean we would have only lost Daveth?”  Maeve looked back to where Duncan was discussing strategy with the King and Duke Loghain.  “Didn’t the Joining process kill both of the recruits?”

            “Duncan’s sword might have been the culprit in Jory’s death after he tried to change his mind,” Alistair admitted.  “Once the Joining begins, there is no way to back out.”

            “Is that what he would have done to me if Cailan hadn’t stopped him?” Maeve was certain it was.  “I would have either been killed by your group’s dark ritual or Duncan’s sword would have accidently found its way into my heart.”

            “No,” Alistair assured him.  “The odds of losing three initiates are too slim for that to be possible.  You would have been fine.”

            “So you’re telling me the odds were in my favor?” She threw up her hands.  “Oh great!  I tell that maniac no and he tries to conscript me anyway and would have killed me if the king hadn’t stopped him, but the odds are in my favor.  I’m glad I’ll be heading to Denerim after tomorrow’s battle instead of being forced into a cult of blood drinkers!  What happened to that _potential mate_ , let me guess she was the Vampire King’s mate, during the First Blight?”  When he didn’t answer, she grew angrier.  “They killed her obviously.  It’s so nice to know that the Crimson Wardens are all so willing to kill the innocent!”  She stormed back towards the war council, with Alistair following behind her; spouting excuses for his demented order and reminding her why they were needed.

            Cailan and Loghain were arguing when she returned to her husband’s side.  “Loghain, my decision is final.  I will stand by the Crimson Wardens in this assault.

            “You risk too much, Cailan!”  Loghain countered.  “The horde of undead is too much for you to be playing hero on the front lines.”

            “If that’s the case, then perhaps we should wait for the Orlesian forces to join us, after all,” Cailan pointed out.  Maeve knew there were more Crimson Wardens in Orlais than Ferelden, even if there was no difference in the number of Chosen Ones born.  Still, she didn’t like the idea of Empress Celene stepping foot in Ferelden any more than the other nobles did.      

            Loghain clenched his fists and jaw.  “I must repeat my protest to your foolish notion that we need the Orlesians to defend ourselves!”

            “It’s not a ‘foolish notion’,” Cailan protested.  “Our arguments with the Orlesians are a thing of the past… and you will remember who is king.”

            Maeve was sure Loghain remembered and that worried her.  Loghain put a gloved hand to his forehead.  “How fortunate that Maric did not live long enough to see his son ready to hand Ferelden over to those who enslaved us for a century.”

            Now she was mad.  Cailan had spoken about his father to her numerous times.  He’d disappeared five years before and the king was still heartbroken over the matter.  “It’s also a good thing that he wasn’t here to see you throw a temper tantrum at your king to the point where you will question royal decrees and refuse to do your job.  Perhaps you plan to just hand Ferelden over to the Vampire King?  Do you plan to save yourself by assuaging your daughter’s hurt with one hand and handing her over as a vampire bride with another?  We all know you wanted King Maric’s bride for yourself, even Celia knew”

            “It seems our current forces will have to suffice, won’t they?”  Cailan was only beginning to realize that he would have to keep his new queen and his general separated from one another.  She had already challenged the general to a duel once and it seemed she was trying to goad him further.  “Duncan, are your men ready for battle?”

            Duncan put his reading glasses back in his uniform’s inner pocket.  He’d taken them out to clean them once again.  “They are, Your Majesty.”

            “And where are your recruits?  The two who went out into the forest with Alistair and Maeve?”  Cailan looked around for them.

            “Yes, Duncan?  Where are they?”  Maeve realized that Duncan would have guessed that Alistair had told her the truth, but she wanted to hear it from him.

            “I’m afraid they didn’t survive the grueling process of becoming a true Crimson Warden,” Duncan rubbed the bridge of his nose.  “I’m sure that Maeve would have, though.  You know that she is something special.”

            “I’m not,” she denied it.  She’d made her choice, but she was afraid that with both Jory and Daveth dead, Cailan would let Duncan put her through the Joining.

            “Oh, but you are,” Cailan kissed her cheek.  “And while I understand that the Crimson Wardens are needed now more than ever, you are too special to hand over to them.  I need you by my side through these difficult times.”

            She smiled at him.  “Then that is where I’ll be.”

            “But not in the battle,” Cailan amended.  “I don’t want you on the front lines.  Loghain, go ahead and speak your strategy.  The Crimson Wardens and I will draw the vampires into charging our lines and then…”

            “You will alert the tower to light the beacon, signaling my men to charge from cover,” Loghain answered.

            “I don’t like this,” Maeve shook her head.  “You are trying to bait the vampires, but the bait in any trap is the most vulnerable piece of meat.  This puts you, Cailan, and the Crimson Wardens at the greatest risk.”

            “I know what I’m doing,” Loghain assured her.  “I am the Hero of Riverdane.  _I_ drove the Orlesians out of Ferelden.  My military strategy has been saving this country for decades.  What would you know of such things, playing with your dolls and tea sets up in Highever?”

            “Maeve studies at the University,” Cailan’s pride shown in his voice.  “She has been studying politics and military strategy, knowing that, as the daughter of a duke, it would aid her husband.  I’m just lucky enough to be that husband.”

            Yet he wouldn’t listen to her and she wasn’t politically savvy enough to get him to listen to her instead of his general.  “I would just like to make sure I have my beloved husband by my side for decades to come,” she told him.

            “Everything will be fine, my dearest,” Cailan assured her.  “Loghain’s men will flank the vampires.  It is the Tower of Ishal in the ruins that is where we will light the beacon.  Who shall light it for us?”

            “Couldn’t we just have some of the mages send up flares?” Alistair wondered.

            “No,” Loghain shook his head.  “I have a few men stationed there.  It is not a dangerous task, but it is vital.”

            “Then we should send our best,” Cailan declared.  He looked to Duncan.  “We shall send Alistair and Maeve to make sure it’s done.”

            “I was hoping that I might be stationed somewhere where I could keep an eye on the battle,” Maeve protested.  “It would make me feel better if I could keep an eye on you,” she didn’t add that she also wanted to keep an eye on Loghain. 

            “I could do it myself, although I was hoping to stand with the rest of the Wardens,” Alistair agreed.  He didn’t know why watching the newlyweds together rankled, but it did.  He wasn’t sure he wanted to accompany a woman who had just gotten married the night before.  He had seen Maeve fight, but didn’t want to hear her planning the rest of the future with his… with the king.

            “No, it’s best that you both go,” Cailan insisted.

            “You rely on these Crimson Wardens too much,” Loghain criticized.  “Is that truly wise?”

            “Enough of your conspiracy theories, Loghain!”  Cailan proclaimed.  “Crimson Wardens battle the Blight, no matter where they’re from.”

            “Besides, Alistair and I were both born in Ferelden,” Duncan put his hands in his pockets and regarded Loghain thoughtfully.  “Maeve is a Chosen One, yes, but she is also Ferelden.  I know I was with the Orlesian Wardens when we first met, but I’m from Highever.  Why do you think I stayed in Cousland Castle as long as I did?  It was nice visiting home again.  We should also consider the possibility of the Vampire King appearing,” he added.

            “There have been no signs of any Byronic Vampire who could be this Vampire King,” Loghain disagreed.

            “Isn’t that what your men are here for, Duncan,” Cailan pointed out.

            “I...” he set his elbows on the table, lacing his fingers.  “Yes, your majesty,” he rested his chin against his laced thumbs, studying both Loghain and Cailan.  He still had another vial of blood and a Joining Chalice.  He wondered if he would need to put Maeve through the Joining after all.  He had a very bad feeling about all of this.

            “Your majesty,” Ghastek, the Grand Enchanter, approached the impromptu war table.  “The tower and beacon are unnecessary.  The magi can…”

            “We will not trust any lives to your spells, mage,” Bettany, the head Reverend Mother of Ferelden, cut Ghastek off.  “Save them for the vampires.”

            “Didn’t I just say the mages could send up flares,” Alistair’s eyes widened and he pointed to himself and then towards the Ghastek.  Cailan was endangering them by giving into paranoid Chantry sisters.

            “Enough!” Loghain shouted.  “This plan will suffice.  The Crimson Wardens will light the beacon.”

            “Thank you, Loghain,” Cailan smiled at him.  “I can not wait for that glorious moment!  The Crimson Wardens battle beside the King of Ferelden to stem the tide of evil!”

            “Yes Cailan,” Loghain turned from him to look at the trees, as if he could see the night creatures moving between them.  “A glorious moment for us all.”


	15. In a Crystal Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Vampire King continues to search for his mate.

The Deep Roads once held the Kingdom of the Dwarves.  They could travel from one end of Thedas to the other without ever having to go to the surface.  It held many large, grand cities where dwarven culture had flourished.  The men and women of those civilizations had been born there, grew, and died without ever once seeing the sky.  The dwarves unreasonable fear of the heavens now served the vampires well.

            Urthemiel sat upon a throne of ebony with soft red cushions.  His dark hair was styled and he wore black slacks, black polished boots, and a high collared black shirt.  He wondered idly if he should add a bit more color to his wardrobe.  Perhaps he would see to that after he had rid the surface of all of the Crimson Wardens.  They were the biggest threat to his reconquest of the world.  It was they who had killed his brothers and sisters after they had been awaken by the undead.  He hoped to take care of the order the next day.  He was sure that no one expected his forces to attack before sunset the next night.  How little they knew of his powers.

            He lifted a large crystal ball off of the stand beside him.  The last time he’d looked into it, he had seen one with the Sight looking back at him.  She hadn’t been worth his attention at first, not until he’d seen her companion.  Urthemiel was sure that the companion had been _her_.  He had not even gained a foothold on the surface yet, but he’d seen _her_ , his destined mate.  She had the red hair and green eyes that meant she had a connection to the undead, the ability to rise again on her own without her blood having to be mixed with theirs.  There had also been a familiarity, a spirit that called out to him.

            _She_ was not the reason he held the ball now, though.  He needed to concentrate on gaining a foothold before he began looking for _her_.  Instead, he turned his gaze on the ruins where the next day’s battle would begin.  It was easy to see the fortress of Ostagar with so many Crimson Wardens around, and in, it.  Yes, they could see him, but that connection made it so much easier to see them.  He’d hoped his Mate would have been put through their Joining by now.  It would have made it easier to find her.  She would have to be one of the Chosen Ones, and the Wardens must be scrambling for new recruits.  He knew the one called Duncan had seen him more than once.

            As he gazed at the fort, he felt _her_ presence.  She didn’t feel like she’d gone through any Joining, but she might be there.  He needed a picture of her, something to show to his army and ensure that they spared her and brought her to him.  Still, if she were his mate, should she not be able to survive without his having to protect her?

            “My Lord, what do you see?”  Nebula, the Nosferatu who was his de facto second in command wanted to know.  “Will all go as planned on the morrow?”

            “Of course it will,” Urthemiel smiled at her.  “The day dwellers think the sun will protect them until dusk.  They have no idea of my power.  Plus, they move against each other instead of me.  I can see both in the minds of the Crimson Wardens when they slumber.   Send messages to my lieutenants.  Tomorrow they shall feast.”


	16. Wedding Night Woes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maeve has an interesting night.

Maeve stared out at the darkened forest, trying to see into the trees.  The mists had risen even further, but the full moon bathed the woods in light.  She didn’t even see the irony of doing exactly what Loghain had a few moments before he and Cailan had gone off to prepare the army.  Fergus was out there, somewhere.  At least she hoped he was.  He hadn’t returned in time to see her wed.  That also meant he didn’t know what had happened to their family, though.  Perhaps it meant he would miss the battle the next day.

            He was in there with the undead, nonetheless.  She didn’t need to go through any Joining to be able to sense the creatures.  She was one of the Chosen Ones after all.  The Joining was just supposed to augment the skills they were born with.  She could feel the creatures moving around in there.  Some were looking for food, but others seemed to be waiting for something.

            “That is just the vanguard,” Alistair stepped up beside her.  “The main horde isn’t here yet; I can feel them further off still.”

            She nodded.  “Fergus, my brother, is out there somewhere with Highever’s soldiers.”

            Alistair slipped an arm around her.  “I won’t lie to you and promise they’ll be all right, but we can hope.  Sometimes all we have is hope.”

            She nodded and leaned her head against his upper arm.  “I know I should go to bed and…” she almost said ‘wait for the king’, but found she didn’t want to give voice to those words.  For all her bravery and bravado, she was more terrified of what was expected of her that night than she was of facing a horde of the undead.

            “There you are,” Duncan approached them.  “I would have thought you’d retired to your new tent by now, Maeve.  I guess your new husband is still busy with his troops, however.  They’ll want to congratulate him some more and will probably escort him to you to fulfill his duties to his beautiful queen and their loving subjects.  There are many traditions that different civilizations have associated with this particular night, especially where the bride is concerned.  Did you know that the Chasined…”

            “Duncan,” Alistair cut him off, he could feel Maeve trembling under his arm.  “Is there something you wanted?”

            “Oh, yes,” Duncan smiled.  “I’m sorry, I got a little distracted.  I had hoped to talk to both of you.  You heard the plan.  When the sun begins to set tomorrow, you two will go to the Tower of Ishal and ensure the beacon is lit.  You can meet at my fire to ensure you leave for the tower together, I would hate for there to be a delay because the pair of you couldn’t find each other.”

            “What?”  Alistair turned to him, not letting go of Maeve.  “I won’t be in battle?  You’re really going to let Cailan keep me out?”

            “This is the king’s personal request, Alistair,” Duncan rubbed his forehead.  “If the beacon’s not lit, Duke Loghain’s men won’t know when to charge.”

            “I still say it’s a trap,” Maeve put her hands on her hips.  “But no one listens to me.”

            “He needs two Crimson Wardens standing up there holding the torch, just in case.  Right?”  Alistair was more willing to take Duncan’s side of the argument than to contemplate that Maeve might be right about Duke Loghain.  He understood why those two were obviously at odds with each other.

            “It’s all a horrible idea,” Maeve countered.  “I’ll talk to Cailan and make him see reason.  If Alistair wishes to fight the undead then, as a Chosen One who has decided to become a Crimson Warden, that is his right.  It would make just as much sense to have a group of archers shoot flaming arrows into the sky or to shoot a cannon off.  Do we have a cannon here?”

            “That is not your choice,” Duncan took out his reading glasses and began to clean them again.  If Cailan wishes to have the beacon lit and to have Crimson Wardens ensure that it is done, then Crimson Wardens will be there.”

            “I’m not a Crimson Warden,” Maeve countered.  “Is marrying a king not enough to get my voice heard?  Do I have to raise my own army to make people listen to me?  I don’t want to raise my own army.  I don’t want to have my wedding night in a camp where soldiers are listening at the flap.  I don’t want to have to constantly fight the undead just because I was born with the Mark.  I don’t want to drink some weird concoction to augment my powers.  I just want my voice heard.  Is that too much to ask?”

            “We must do whatever it takes to destroy the vampires… whether or not it is exciting,” he put the reading glasses on and pulled a couple of notes out of the inner pocket of his jacket.

            “I get it.  I get it,” Alistair conceded.  “Just so you know, if the king ever asks me to put on a dress and dance the Remigold, I’m drawing the line; vampires or not.”

            That made Maeve smile.  “I think I’d like to see that.” 

            He returned the smile.  “For you maybe, but it has to be a pretty dress.”

            Duncan started making the weird clucking sound with his tongue again and glared at the pair.  “I have some correspondences to read.  Alistair, I suggest you get to bed.  We must prepare for tomorrow night’s battle.  Maeve, I suggest you get to your husband’s tent.  It wouldn’t look good if he ended up having to wait for you.  You still have duties to Ferelden to fill this night.”

            “What a lovely way of putting it,” Maeve didn’t realize she’d just cuddled into Alistair’s side as if for protection.

            “Come on, Freckles,” Alistair kept his arm around Maeve, but veered her towards the king’s tent.  “I’ll make sure no one bothers you while you get there.”

            “Freckles?”  He’d never used that nickname with her before.

            “Yes,” he laughed.  “You have the cutest freckles.  I have thought so since I met you.  I just didn’t mention them before… because you would have probably hurt me for doing so.”  He removed his arm from around her, but continued to walk with her.

            “What makes you think I still won’t hurt you?”  She wondered.

            “You might,” he admitted.  “But that would probably make you feel better right now; so I’ll allow it.”

            “Keep talking, blondie,” she shook her head, but didn’t leave his side until she’d reached the tent of her new husband.

            She didn’t mention to anyone the strange woman dressed in a tattered white clothes that she saw.  The woman reminded her of the red-haired woman she’d heard crying in Castle Cousland, although they were definitely two separate women.  This one was blonde and her features were less delicate.  She, too, was crying and the wail of those tears was just as haunting.

 

 

            When she entered the tent, Maeve found VanHowling waiting for her.  He barked happily and then curled up at the end of the king’s bed.

            “I guess that is likely the most comfortable place in this entire camp,” Maeve observed.

            “I’m sure it is, my lady,” Illia came from the shadows and gently removed the veil and pins from Maeve’s hair.  “It is also the safest in all of Ostagar.  Do you see the holy symbols that are embroidered into the blankets?  Those have been blessed by reverend mothers.  Plus, there are enchantments weaved into them.  No undead can get near anyone who take refuge in that bed.  And you get to sleep there tonight.”

            She wouldn’t be sleeping there alone, either.  Maeve stared at the piled blankets and soft pillows as Illia unlaced her dress.  “I…”  She looked back at Illia, her green eyes wide.  “I’ve never…”

            “Well, of course you haven’t, my lady,” Illia’s voice was soft.  “The king seems to be a good and kind man.  I’m sure it won’t be a trial for you.  If you must, just close your eyes and think of Ferelden.”

            That managed to bring a smile to Maeve’s face.  It was exactly what Oriana would have told her to do.  Her mother, though, had assured her that it was a wonderful thing when the right man was found.  “Thank you.”

            “I’ll take things from here,” Cailan walked into the tent.  His men could be heard from outside.  He finished unlacing her dress while Illia bowed and left.

            “Take her hard and fast, Your Majesty!”  One of the men outside slurred loudly. 

            “Implant her with the Mighty Theirin Dragon!”  Another voice shouted.

            Cailan gently divested Maeve of her dress, not mentioning that he could feel her shaking under his hands.  “It’s all right,” he soothed.

            She glanced back at him and then sat down on the bed to unlace her own boots.  “Are… are they going to be out there the entire time?”

            “I hope not,” he began removing his own boots.  “They have a battle to wage tomorrow.”

            Maeve slowly took off her stockings, not even daring to look at him as he began to undress himself.  “Oh.”

            “Darling,” Cailan gently cupped her cheek and turned her face to look at him.  “I’m not going to do anything with them out there listening.  I would never do that to my wife.  I wouldn’t have married you if I didn’t care about you.  Here,” he pulled out his dagger and made a shallow cut on his left hand.  Then he pulled back the blankets and squeezed his left hand over the sheets, letting blood drip onto them. 

            Maeve stared down at the blood on the sheets.  “But… don’t you want to…”  She stumbled.  “It’s… our wedding night.”

            “And you are shaking like a leaf on the wind, dearest,” he pointed out.   “Which is besides all of the soldiers standing outside of our tent, waiting to hear you cry out, as I…  Even the Earl of Denerim is out there.”

            “Does that mean I should cry out?”  She wondered. 

            “Perhaps a loud moan, but even that might be too much with those lurkers standing out there, listening to us,” he glared at the tent’s door.  “We can wait until we are on our way back to Denerim before we do anything.  Let’s wait until we are in a real bed with an actual roof over our head.  I’ll take you some place romantic.”

            She smiled at him. Maker, he was a good man.  What could any woman ask for more?  She leaned in and kissed him.  “Oh, wait.”  She made a loud moan and heard cheering outside.  Yes, she was grateful that she could wait for another night.

            Cailan smiled fondly at her and returned the kiss.  “My beautiful bride, I do look forward to a life with you.”  He picked her up in his arms and laid her gently on the sheets before pulling the blankets up around her.  “Oh, baby!”  He shouted out.  “I didn’t know what I was missing until I had taken you.  Before I was but a boy, now I am a man.  Your virginal chalice has transformed me.” 

“Cailan,” she tried to stop her giggles. “Stop, they’ll hear me laughing and think less of.. you.”

“If my lady so wishes,” he kissed her forehead.  Then he lay down beside her and watched her drift into the Fade.

 

 

            Maeve found herself in the gilded halls of the Deep Roads for a split second, looking at a dark haired, very handsome man sitting on a throne.  A nosferatu was beside him.  She was there for a split second before she was pulled away and found herself standing in what appeared to be a white marble version of Castle Cousland.  There were gold accents in the marble.  She heard a child’s laugh.  She knew that laugh.

            “She’s here!”  Oren ran towards her.  “Did you find me Aunt Maeve?”

            “Aunt Maeve shouldn’t be here, yet,” Oriana picked him up and walked away. 

            “No, let me see him,” Maeve started after them.

            “Oriana is still getting used to being here, pup,” Bryce Cousland approached his daughter and folded her into his arms.  “Don’t let her upset you.  You have bigger things to worry about.”

            “I got married today, daddy,” she used the childish nickname.  “But you weren’t there.”

            “No I wasn’t,” his eyes were sad.  “I can’t be.  Besides, you don’t love your husband.  I had hoped that you would find a man you truly loved to marry.  I didn’t want you to give into some predestined fate or duty.  I wanted you to find the man you were meant to love, the one the Maker had picked out for you, and live a life with him.”

            “My husband is a good man,” Maeve defended him.

            “Yes, he is,” her father agreed.  “I don’t know if he’s strong enough to protect you from what is coming, though.  He’s done well so far or you wouldn’t be here.”

            “What do you mean?”  Maeve looked around.  “Where am I?”

            “You are safe,” was all her father would tell her.  “It was the protections he put around you that sent you here.  The Vampire King was looking for you.  When he found you, the protections that you now sleep under sent you here to me.”

            “Why would the Vampire King be looking for me?”  Maeve wondered.  “I’m not even a Crimson Warden.”

            “I think you know why,” Bryce led her to a bench nearby; it was laced with blooming roses.  “When you realize it, don’t tell the Crimson Wardens.”  He plucked one of the roses and handed it to her.  “Well, don’t tell the ones who would put their duty above you.”

            Maeve looked around.  “This place is beautiful.”

            Bryce smiled.  “You should see the gardens.  But… not yet, you have much to do before you sleep, pup.”

            “Where’s mom?”  She wanted to see her to.

            Bryce refused to answer that question.


	17. Breakfast of the Damned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maeve meets a potential new friend while searching for breakfast. Then she eats with Alistair

The sun was shining when Maeve woke the morning after her wedding to Cailan.  She felt rested and stretched pleasantly.  Slowly opening her eyes, it took her a few minutes to remember where she was.

            “Hello there, Sleeping Beauty,” Cailan was already dressed in his uniform.  It was red, with gold accents; the colors of House Theirin.  “You seem to have slept well.”

            “Where are you off to so early in the morning,” she yawned and slowly sat up. 

“I’m going to eat breakfast with my men and then talk to Loghain,” he recounted.  “It seems that some of my scouts swear there is a large storm slowly moving in from the south.  They swear the clouds are thick enough to obscure the sun, which will allow all of the undead to move during the daytime.  We may have to move up the battle’s timeline.  Duncan claims that this is the Vampire King’s doing.  They can apparently do magic.”

            “They are Old Gods,” she slowly climbed out of bed.  “We don’t know what becoming undead has done to them, but I imagine they still have some impressive powers.  I don’t want to go up against one of them.”

            “Neither do I,” he admitted.  “But that is why the Crimson Wardens are here.  It is their job to take the creatures on.”  He leaned in and kissed her.  “I’ll see you for tea time, my dear.  Illia will be here to do your hair and with some new clothes in a few minutes.”

            “New clothes?  Where did you find new clothes?”  She had been stuck in the same riding dress for several days as she and Duncan had moved to the south.  He hadn’t given her time to do any shopping.

            “The Mage’s Collective has a few fine seamstresses and tailors among them,” he admitted.  “One of the pieces is from a new style of fashion that is all the rage among them.  Their tastes are very Romantic, I must say.  Still, having the mages get into fashion keeps them from deciding to take over Ferelden like they did in Tevinter.  It also allows me to make sure my beautiful wife has a change of clothes when she needs it.”

            “I think the fact that their Templars were all being bribed and their secretly marrying into all of Tevinter’s noble houses had more to do with it,” Maeve pointed out.

            “You know your political history,” he smiled.  “I did find quite the catch this time.  I’ll see you soon.”  With another kiss, he left.

            Maeve was looking for her toothbrush, when a group of soldiers, led by the Earl of Denerim burst into the tent.  She sidestepped to the chest where she’d stored her swords the night before, not sure what the men wanted.  They barely even looked at her.   Instead, they pulled the blankets off of the bed and grabbed the sheets.  One of the men showed the spot of blood to the earl who hooted in delight.

            The earl bowed to her and then raced outside, holding the sheet. “Blood is life!”  He chanted.  “Blood is life!”  The other men joined in his chant.  Maeve let out a little groan and sat on the chest.  She hoped she wouldn’t have to deal with Earl Urien too often.

            “Those Shem are hooligans,” Illia was shaking her head as she walked in.  “And the Kendells are the worst ones.  I’m glad I don’t live in the Alienage.”

            “Are things that bad in Denerim?” Maeve knew that many elves had to face racism, but if any had to do so in Highever, it was subtle.  The Couslands had never stood by discrimination.

            “It’s one of the worst areas in Ferelden,” Illia confirmed.  “Luckily, I don’t live there.  I will be moving into the palace with you.”

            “Still, I’ll see what I can do to improve matters,” Maeve promised.

            “Good,” Illia laid out three dresses on the bed; a riding outfit, a walking dress, and a new style of dress that Maeve had never seen before.  The riding habit was black with a ruffled collar and hem on the top.  The skirt was also black.  It had a swag in the front, but was otherwise plain.  The hat was the same black and had a black scarf around it and black veil in the back.  She would save that for the first leg of her ride back to Denerim.

            The walking dress was black with green trim and tiny pink vertical stripes. It included a small bustle, which made it impractical for fighting in.  The lady’s bowler hat that had been paired with it was black and had a large green bow with large flowers filling it and the rest of the hat.  There were also black and green feathers.  Had an Orlesian designed it?  “If we leave off the bustle, you’ll just have a small train, my lady,” Illia seemed to be reading her mind. 

            Maeve nodded and looked at the third outfit.  She could see what Cailan had meant about Romantic, although she’d put the influence as more of medieval Anderfells than the ancient Tevinter Imperium.  The outer dress was made from green leather.  The collar was high in the back, high enough to cover all of the back and side of her neck and head up to mid-ear.  Then it came down in the front to form a low rounded neckline.  Three grommets held it closed across the torso.  The long skirt was split down the front and the entire thing was trimmed in black ribbon that was the same color as the grommets.  Under the dress was a black blouse with loose fitting sleeves.  It had a sweetheart neckline and was embroidered in the same shade of green as dress.  There were also black trousers that went under the split skirt.  Female warrior were allowed to wear trousers, but Queen Rowan and Anora had both decreed that noble ladies were not allowed to where such things.  Well, Rowan was dead and Anora was no longer queen.  It was time to change a few fashion rules.  It seemed the mages were already trying to do so and Maeve approved.  She ran a hand along the green leather.  Then she studied the hat for a moment.  It was the same green leather and had a wide brim, yet was curved to ensure it didn’t cut off any of her vision.  Wide black ribbon went around the crown of the hat and the ends trailed in the back.

            “The sleeves are cut long enough for you to be able to wield your swords with full movement,” Illia informed her.  “The mage women had been complaining that today’s fashion encumbered their movements too much.  To quote one ‘when a spell goes wrong, one must be able to move quickly to rectify it’.”

            “This will make our female warriors more fashionable as well,” Maeve agreed.

            “They are fashionable in Orzammar,” Illia agreed.  “You’ll notice that they also seem to believe that freedom of movement is necessary.”

            “That’s because they live under constant threat of the undead,” Maeve pointed out.  “They have no sun to protect them during the day.  I’ll wear the green leather today.”

            “Are you sure you don’t want to wear the walking dress for now and change at dusk?” Illia knew that most noble women changed their clothes at least three times a day.

            “Cailan mentioned a storm is moving in from the south,” Maeve revealed.  “I don’t think we’re going to have until dusk before the battle starts.  There is a Vampire King and he’s sending his people to strike at us first.”

            “Yes, my lady,” Illia let Maeve brush her teeth and take care of her morning obligations before setting her down and forming several braids in her hair.  She then wrapped those braids around Maeve’s head in fashionable spirals, including a small braid for accent.  She then weaved several black and green ribbons among the braids, while letting strands of curls down to accent Maeve’s face and back.  She then placed a green leather choker around Maeve’s neck.  A small cross, with emeralds incrusted in it hung from the leather.

            All the while, the pair brainstormed what Maeve could do to improve the situation of the elves in Denerim and discussed the coming battle.  “I won’t be allowed to fight,” Maeve revealed.

            “Of course not,” Illia shook her head.  “Even now, you could be carrying the heir of Ferelden in your womb.  You can’t be put in the thick of battle.”

            She couldn’t be carrying the heir to anything, Maeve knew.  She wasn’t going to tell anyone, however, that she was still a virgin.  “But I am a trained fighter.”

            “Which is a reassurance to the people of Ferelden,” Illia assured her.  “I’m sure that Que… Anora knows what side of a sword to point at her enemy, but I have doubts she knows much more beyond that.”

            “Her father is the Hero of River Dane,” Maeve pointed out.  Still, she hadn’t heard of the former queen receiving any formal training in any fighting style.  There were rumors that Anora had fought a giant with Cailan once, but some nobles joked that she’d just run around and played Damsel in Distress while Cailan did the real fighting.  However, what noble woman wasn’t trained to at least defend herself from the undead?

            “Who I hear you challenged to a dual,” Illia smiled.  “I haven’t seen Anora ever pick up a sword, though, and according to the other elves at the palace she couldn’t defend herself if a living foe tried to abduct her, much less an undead one.”  She finished off by placing a thin gold circlet on top of Maeve’s head, even though it was then covered by a hat.  At some point she might take the hat off and heaven forbid her head be bare.  “Don’t forget your swords and take your mabari hound with you.  I have heard that you will be lighting a beacon with Sir Alistair.  Now there’s a fairhead and bricky, not that he has even noticed me or looked twice in my direction.”

            “He’s a Crimson Warden,” Maeve didn’t disagree with Illia’s assessment of Alistair, though.  He was handsome and brave.  “His concern is only the coming Blight.  I doubt he has even really noticed that I’m a woman,” she would have doubted it if he hadn’t mentioned it once or twice.  “Perhaps I can arrange an introduction,” she ignored the little sting of jealousy she felt; there was no reason for it.”

            Illia blushed a bit.  “Perhaps after the battle.”

            Maeve laughed and grabbed her swords and motioned for VanHowling to follow her.  “I’ll see to it as soon as we drive the undead back.”  Well, after they drove the undead back and she found her brother.

 

 

            Maeve had gone in search of breakfast at first.  As soon as she got near the soldiers, however, she heard them still chanting.  “Blood is life!  Blood is life!”  Didn’t they have something else to obsess about?  Perhaps something like the coming battle?

            She turned around and headed in the opposite direction.  She wondered for a moment if Cailan might have any provisions, such as oats, that she could even make porridge out of.  No, that would be with his men.  She found herself near the mage’s camp, but the sign reading “No Nonacs allowed” reminded her that she’d have to play the queen card to even beg food off of them.

            A woman with long, loose honey blonde hair sat on a blanket with ancient Highever symbols drawn on it.  Her clothing was similar to what Maeve now wore, but with a wide collar instead of a high one.  She held her left hand up.  A glass ball floated above the hand, with a lightning storm inside it.  The lightning would stop as it hit the glass, but it was fascinating to watch.  In front of her were a set of tarot cards and she was flipping cards and frowning at them.

            Maeve sat down in front of her, VanHowling hunched dutifully at her side.  “The undead are marching on Ostagar, aren’t they?”

            “How did you know…?”  The woman looked up and blinked at her.  “Yes, that is what the cards say.  “You can read them?”

            “My best friend, Tara, can,” Maeve explained.  “She taught me a little, but I don’t have the arcane gifts.”

            “You may hold a few that you are unaware of,” the other woman studied her.  “You bear the Mark after all.”

            “Wow, you are good,” Maeve was impressed by this mage.  “I met a mage named Wynne out here yesterday morning.  Amazing, it was only yesterday.”  Maeve shook her head as if to clear it.  “She only knew, because of rumors that were circulating around camp.”

            “The rumors that Duncan wanted you as a recruit and King Cailan wanted you as his new wife?”  The mage smiled ruefully.  “Wynne mentioned meeting you.  Plus, I caught a glimpse of you after your wedding last night, Your Highness.  Also,” she looked around.  “I can sense the Mark on you a little, likely because I have my own.”  She opened the top button of her dress and pulled down her dress enough to show the top of two facing griffons on her left shoulder.  “I am Sabina Amell, by the way.”

            “Maeve Cousland-Theirin,” Maeve liked this mage.  She wondered, if circumstances were different, if they might end up as friends.

            “Would you like me to do your reading, Maeve?” Sabina offered.  Her answer was Maeve’s stomach growling.  “Perhaps after you find your breakfast.”

            “I’d like that,” Maeve really would, especially now that she’d chosen her king over the Crimson Wardens.

            “Take this,” the ball slowly lowered into Sabina’s hand and she whispered a few words to it in Tevene.  “The lightning is my own magic, although I was tracking the storm with it.  “I want you to have it for now.”  She didn’t add that the ball would allow her to track the queen.  She had a horrible premonition that the coming battle would be worse than any knew.  She’d had nightmares for the last three days.  At one point she’d seen what could have sworn she’d seen the Vampire king, who’d muttered something about her being close, but not the right one.  Mainly, she’d seen the storm, death, and a great shadow falling over all of Thedas.

            “I can’t take this,” Maeve protested.  “It’s too valuable.”

            “Think of it as a wedding present,” Sabina smiled.  “I find looking into storms helps me meditate when I’m making weighty decisions.”

            “Thank you,” Maeve stood with the ball.  “Um…”  She wasn’t sure where to put it.

            “Wait a moment,” Sabina left and came back with a black leather bag with more ancient Highever runes.  She put the ball in it and handed it back to Maeve.  “This holds more than you’d think it would.  Keep it on you through today and Maker keep you.”  She then pulled out a bag of sand taken from the Storm Coast and began using fire magic to create a new ball.

 

 

            Maeve was considering seeing if the healers tending to the wounded in the little infirmary area were willing to share any food when she spotted Alistair sitting by Duncan’s camp.  He was alone and balancing a bowl of porridge on his legs.

            “Maeve!”  He greeted her with a bright smile.  “I suppose this is pretty poor fare compared to what you had to break your fast, but come join me for a minute.”

            “I didn’t get anything,” her stomach growled to back up her claim.

            “What?  Why not?”  Alistair took her hand without thinking and pulled her down to sit with him.  “Here!”  He thrust the bowl he’d been eating from at her.  “I’ll get me more.  Do you need anything for your handsome friend?”

            “He’ll be hungry.  VanHowling this is Alistair.  Alistair meet my mabari, VanHowling.  I don’t want to literally take food from your…”  She became distracted by her first bite.  “What is in this?”

            “There is brown sugar, cinnamon, chocolate chips, and these little miniature marshmallows that Daveth raided from the mage’s camp on a dare,” he explained.

            “Really?”  She took another bite.  It was actually quite good.”

            “Here,” he handed her a mug.  “The little marshmallows taste really good in this.”

            She niffed the mug, it was hot chocolate.  She hadn’t realized Alistair had such a sweet tooth.  She took a drink and continued to eat.  “Thank you.”

            “Why hadn’t you eaten yet?” Alistair sat down with his new bowl.

            “Cailan didn’t think to send food to our tent and I… didn’t want to eat with the soldiers,” she blanched, that made her sound pretentious.  “It’s just… they plucked the sheets off of my bed this morning and started chanting ‘Blood is Life’.”  She finished the last part quickly.

            “Oh, Maeve,” Alistair took a quick bite, trying to hold the blush that filled his face.  “I’m sorry.  We men can be so crass sometimes.  Are you all right?  I know you were nervous already.  Did Cailan hurt you when…?”

            Maeve opened her mouth to reassure him and instead found herself confessing to him.  “We didn’t.  The soldiers and nobles were all outside of our tent. The blood on the sheets was Cailan’s.  Please, don’t tell anyone.  We’ll take care of… that… as soon as we’re away from Ostagar and the large crowd of people listening outside of our tent.”

            “Of course I won’t tell anyone,” he swore.  “I’m just glad you’re all right.”

            “Not even Duncan?”  Her eyes were wide and pleading.

            “I won’t talk to him of this,” he promised.  “I understand.  I’m surprised you told me.”

            “So am I,” she admitted.  “I just had to tell someone.  I feel like everyone is studying me today.  I’ve passed four people who were staring at my stomach as if trying to sense whether or not I got pregnant last night.  It’s horrible.”  She realized that Alistair’s eyes had gone straight to her face when he’d seen her coming towards him.

            “I imagine so,” he agreed.  “Why don’t we talk about something else?  I saw a production of _The Two Noblemen of Quarinus_ while on the way to Ostagar.  It was put on by the _South Reach Players_.  They weren’t half bad.  Have you ever seen it?”  When she shook her head, he went into the entire plot of the play.

            “Wait,” she interrupted him after he was half done with his retelling of the story.  “Why would Julianna still want Roland after she learned he was chasing after Isouda?  He was being unfaithful to her.”

            “I…”  He stopped and looked up.  “Have you noticed how dark it’s become?”  The storm had arrived and the clouds were, indeed, thick enough to cover the sun.

            “The vampires are coming,” Maeve watched the lightning in the distance.  She could hear the approaching rain. 

            “Alistair!”  Duncan was running to them.  “I need you to find Maeve and… Oh, hello, Maeve.”

            “Duncan,” she gave him a little wave.  “It appears the storm was moving faster than anyone realized.  Where’s Cailan?”

            “He’s getting him men together and taking them outside the walls,” Duncan reported.  “I will do the same in a few minutes.  Meanwhile, you two need to get to the Tower of Ishal and light that beacon.”

            “The tower is on the other side of the gorge from the king’s camp,” Duncan looked to Maeve.  “It’s the way we came when we arrived.  You’ll need to cross the gorge and head through the gate and up to the tower entrance.  From the top, you’ll overlook the entire valley.”

            “That sounds easy enough,” Maeve reasoned.  “I hope it has a nice view.”

            “We will signal you when the time is right,” Duncan continued.  “Alistair will know what to look for.”

            “We’ll take care of the primitive beacon,” Maeve assured him.  “I grew up near the Waking sea, I’m sure it isn’t much different than a lighthouse.”

            Duncan nodded.  “Then I must join the others.  From here, you two are on your own.  Remember, you are both Chosen Ones, even if you are not technically a Crimson Warden, Maeve.  I expect you to be worthy of the title.”

            “Duncan…” Alistair gazed affectionately at his mentor.  “May the Maker watch over you.”

            “May he watch over us all,” Duncan responded.


	18. Fate Grabs Her Scissors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Battle of Ostagar begins

The combined forces of Ferelden stood outside the gates of Ostagar, watching the undead approach.  Under the storm clouds, all five races were represented.  The Draugr wore tattered cloths and patched together ancient armor.  The nosferatu hid under deep robes, but the swords they held were as plain as day.  The Byronic vampires were dressed in uniforms similar to their foe; only their penchant for formal wear rather than any integrated uniform set them apart.  The Lamia screamed from the air as they rode the winds of the storm.  The Ubus seemed to saunter in the back, barely wearing anything and looking slightly bored.  Few in Ferelden’s army were fooled, though.  Those things were soul suckers.

            The sharpshooters were the second to last line of defense in the back.  While their rifles would not outright kill most of their enemy, the silver bullets would slow them down.  A few of the younger ones would, in fact, die from the silver poisoning to their hearts.  Behind them were archers.  Their wood tipped arrows worked beautifully as stakes.  Some held silver tipped arrows dipped in oil that would be lit, for their more flammable foe.

            At the front of the line, where mabari growled and soldiers quivered, reverend mothers walked with lamps holding consecrated oil.  They called down the Maker’s blessing to protect those who had come to fight the unholy undead.  All of this was set under the boom of thunder and flashes of lightning from the storm that the Vampire King had summoned.

            One soldier tried to take a step back, but was held in place by a jab from his commander’s rife.  The man would take a shot first, to hurt the creatures, before he pulled out his sword and shield.

            Sabina gripped her staff in her right hand, her feet planted at an angle to make her not only a smaller target, but to aid in her aim.  She held up her left hand, calling on lightning from the storm to aid her own magic and using that to create a sparkling shield around her.  She glanced at her fellow mage who stood behind her, Wynne was more of a healer than a fighter, but those healing abilities would be of great use on the battle field.  She did have her own offensive magic, just not much of it.  It was enough to protect herself and those whom she’d be called upon to help.  Sabina shifted so any undead who broke through the lines would have to get pass her to get to the older mage.

            “I have a bad feeling about this,” Wynne murmured.

            _So do I,_ Sabina admitted to herself.  _So do I_.

 

 

            Duncan and Cailan walked out of Ostagar together, heading towards the Crimson Wardens.  “The plan will work, Your Majesty,” Duncan’s voice was confident.

            “Of course it will,” Cailan lifted his chin and looked into the woods that held the opposing army with disdain.  “The Blight ends here.”

            Duncan closed his eyes a moment and rubbed the bridge of his nose.  He could see more of the creatures moving through the trees towards Ostagar.

            “Steady!”  Cailan demanded. As the two men watched, the vampires charged.  “Sharpshooters!”  He called.

            The sound of gunpowder igniting filled the air and silver bullets careened towards the charging army.  A few fell, but the rest kept coming.

            “Archers!”  Cailan called for his next line of defense.

            Arrows filled the air.  Those that held flames lit up the darkened sky.  More of the creatures fell, but the rest continued their charge.

            “Release the hounds!”  The king ordered.

            The dogs barked and growled as they charged towards the vampiric adversaries.  Some lunged and some broke into the line, yet some were also caught on the sword of their enemy.

            “For Ferelden!”  Cailan held up his sword and the people charged to meet their fate.

 


	19. The Tower of Ishal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maeve and Alistair, along with the mabari called VanHowling, make their way through the Tower of Ishal. They take a mage with them.

Maeve and VanHowling watched the battle happening in the field outside the walls.  VanHowling cried out when one of his people, his fellow mabari, was impaled on a draugr’s sword.

            Alistair looked to the battlefield as well.  He had friends down there, as well as a mentor and a brother, but he also had a duty to Ferelden.  “Let’s get to the tower and light the beacon.”

            Maeve turned to him, water was dripping from the brim of her hat and her loose curls were plastered against her cheeks and neck.  She just nodded and let him lead her across the bridge towards the tower.  There were archers lining the wall, shooting at the undead.  Maeve grabbed a quiver as she passed and put it in the strange bag Sabina had given her.  Sure enough, they somehow fit.  “Just in case,” she explained to Alistair.

            “Do you plan to put one of those through Loghain’s back later on?” He teased.

            She actually considered that for a moment.  “Maybe.”

            VanHowling barked in agreement at the idea.

            As they made it across the bridge and to the ruins, a soldier came running towards the.  A mage was only a few steps behind him.  “Hey you!  You there, you’re Crimson Wardens aren’t you?”

            Maeve looked over at Alistair.  He wore the red and black uniform of a Crimson Warden.  Then she looked down at her own outfit.  Nope, she was still wearing green and black.  Her clothes hadn’t magically changed into a Crimson Warden uniform.  “He is,” she pointed her thumb over at Alistair.

            “The tower has been taken,” the soldier reported.

            “What are you talking about, man,” Alistair demanded to know.  “Taken how?”

            “The undead came up through the lower chambers, they’re everywhere,” the soldier looked back at the tower.  “Most of our men are dead.”

            “Then we have to get to the beacon and light it ourselves!”  Alistair proclaimed.

            “Lighting the beacon ourselves has always been the plan,” Maeve pointed out.  “Cailan already decided that Loghain’s men weren’t reliable enough to do that.”

            “He was obviously right,” Alistair’s jaw set and he gazed at the tower determinably. 

            Maker his determined face was so cute.  Maeve shook her head and reminded herself that she was a married woman.  She shouldn’t even be looking at her friends like that.  “Let’s get to work.”

            “Good,” the soldier ran off.

            “Hey!  Get back here!” Maeve objected. 

            “Colonel Casey just got promoted last week,” the mage shook his head.  “I’m First Lieutenant Jasper Laroche.”

            “It’s nice to meet you,” Alistair shook his hand.  “Now let’s get to that beacon.”

            They had barely gotten to the stairs leading up to the tower, when they encountered the undead.  There were five Draugr, two lamias, a Byronic vampire, and a nosferatu.  Maeve pulled out her pistol and shot one of the lamia between the eyes before engaging the nosferatu with her duel blades.

            Alistair charged the Byronic vampire, who blocked his thrust and then lunged at the Crimson Warden.  Alistair blocked the lunge with his shield and moved around the vampire, trying to get an opening.  The two opponents parried each other for a few minutes, before Alistair got an opening that allowed him to shield bash the undead creature and then he beheaded it.

            Meanwhile, VanHolwing had leapt on two Draugr, managing to mangle both.  The creatures lay torn apart as Laroche blasted the other three Draugr with fireballs, grateful the beasts were so susceptible to fire.

            Maeve finished off the nosferatu with a dual sweep of her swords, as Alistair knocked the second lamia from the air with his shield and finished her off with a thrust from his sword.

            The group took a good look at each other before nodding and running into the Tower of Ishal.  The tower had truly been overrun; the undead filled the first floor.  It took them half an hour to clean out the first floor.  The entrance had been the worse, but the creatures had taken over the entire space.  Freeing still caged mabari helped add to the numbers of rescuers.  VanHowling barked at his fellows, leading the charge.

            “Who left those guys caged?” Maeve demanded to know.  “When I find out…”

            “I have a feeling that whoever did it is already dead,” Alistair viewed the bodies of the soldiers left in the tower; they were strewn around the halls.  “Let’s get to the top.”

            On the second floor, they found fewer vampires.  There were still no living left, though.  The undead had killed everyone or the soldiers had fled.

            By the third floor, Alistair was becoming despondent over the wasted life and the time wasted in clearing out the undead.  The only light illuminating the ruins inside the tower came from lightning flashes outside.  It threw the shadows into strange, grotesque shapes.  “Maker’s breath!  What are all of these undead doing ahead of the horde?  There wasn’t supposed to be any resistance here.”

            “You could try telling them they’re in the wrong place,” Maeve suggested.

            “Riiight,” irony dipped into his voice.  “Because this is clearly just a misunderstanding we’ll laugh about this later.”

            “Oh, we thought you’d set the tea service up at the top of the tower and that we were going to exchange quips and grandstand before the battle,” Maeve used a bad Western Navarran accent.  “Ve vanted to discuss sucking your blood and how you vill cower before us.”

            “At any rate, we need to hurry!”  Alistair moved forward, fighting a Draugr that charged at them.  “We need to get to the top of the tower and light the signal fire in time!  Duke Loghain will be waiting for the signal.”

            “I’m happy I didn’t decide to wear the walking dress,” Maeve kicked at an incubus who came at her.  Then took his head.

            They continued to cut their way through the tower, until they made it to the top.  The beacon was easily in view, as was well as the largest nosferatu they had ever met.  The creature must have been at least six and a half feet tall before his transformation.  He held a large, double handed axe in one hand and held up a beefy soldier in the other.  He teeth were in the soldiers neck.  He threw the remains out one of the windows as he saw the newcomers. 

            “Oh, crap,” Laroche muttered.  He threw a fireball before diving out of the axe’s way.  VanHowling came from behind the creature and clamped on to the back of his leg, his teeth digging in.  The nosferatu tried to kick him away, but was soon distracted.

            Alistair went at the creature from its right side.  He bashed it with his shield before jabbing with his sword.  At the same time, Maeve come from its left side.  She blended into the shadows, before kicking the back of the nosferatu’s left leg.  She followed the move by bringing the Sword of Faith across the back of the terror’s neck.  It moved too fast, though.  She’d cut in, but there was no decapitation.  It swung at Maeve; she dodged, and came back up with both swords at the ready.

            Laroche had made it back to his feet and sent an ice blast at the creature’s chest.  It wasn’t strong enough to freeze and shatter the heart, but it was strong enough to irritate the creature.  It charged at him, it’s axe swinging down.  Laroche was bisected.

            VanHolwing had been holding onto the back of the vampire’s tattered cloak.  He whimpered in sympathy.  Alistair didn’t let himself think about it.  He brought his sword, Daybringer, down on the axe hilt.  It splinted in two.  The nosferatu threw the broken shaft at him and charged again.  Alistair began saying a little prayer to the Maker.

            As the nosferatu lifted his axe again, Maeve jumped onto his back.  She dug the Sword of Cousland into the creature’s right shoulder, as she aimed the Sword of Faith at the cut it had made before.  This time the sword cut through the creature’s thick neck.

            Alistair dove out of the way of the axe and saw the creature’s head roll by.  Maeve still stood on its back and was pulling the Sword of Cousland out of it.  She smiled at him for a moment and then had another thought.  “VanHowling?” 

            VanHowling barked reassuringly at his mistress, while Alistair ran to the beacon.  He found the tinder and long matches.  He quickly lit it and watch the flames rise.  “That should do it.”

            The door blew open and an army of undead advanced on them.  Maeve blew out a long breath and held her swords at the ready.


	20. Betrayal and Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loghain quits the field. As a result, people die.

“What do you plan to say to Anora when you return to Denerim?”  Sir Cautherine sat on her black charger, beside Loghain.  “Do you think she’s heard about Cailan’s new wife?  I think we need to return there before Cailan… and his new wife… do.”

            “I will take care of my daughter’s welfare, never doubt that,” Loghain assured her.  He glanced at the Tower of Ishal.  Even now, the spitfire’s blood was probably filling the belly of some unholy dead creature.  Not just the spitfire’s blood, but that of King Maric’s bastard was also being drained.  He should have thanked Cailan for sending the pair to the tower.  His two biggest problems in life were being taken care of.  He’d planned to have his men kill them in the tower, but his colonel had come running to him to report that it was overrun.

            “That is good,” she nodded.  “I hate to think what she must be going through, even now.  The more power one holds, the more they have to lose.”

            “That is why one must tighten their grip,” Loghain responded.  “I was not born a duke, but no one will take the power I’ve earned away from me.”  Something out of the corner of his eye caught his attention.  To his horror and amazement, the beacon of the Tower of Ishal had been lit.  How the Maker had…?”

            “The beacon!”  One of his men called out.  “The Beacon of Ishal is lit!”

            So it was, Loghain rued.  Still, his enemies would not make it out of that day alive.  “Call the retreat.”

            “But!”  Sir Cautherine turned to him, her eyes wide.  “What about the king?  Should we not…?”

            He grabbed her arm.  “Do as I command!”   

            She pulled her arm back and regarded him for a moment.  The man was more than her duke or her commander.  He was her hero, she couldn’t counter his orders; nor should she, for that would be dishonorable.  She had sworn a blood oath.  “Call…”  A figure appeared before her.  He wore a red and gold uniform similar to what King Cailan now wore.  There was also an unusual amount of gold braids and several metals.  His hair was also blonde and there was a circlet of gold set on his head.  His eyes were sad and seemed to be pleading with her.  He slowly shook his head.  She hesitated, she’d seen this figure in paintings, but there was no way this could be _him_.  Then there was a flash of lightning and the figure disappeared.  “Call… retreat.  Pull out!”  She rode to the head of Loghain’s soldiers, trying not to think of the ghostly eyes that followed her.  “All of you, let’s move,” she led them away from the battlefield.

            Loghain continued to stare at the beacon, and then sniffed in disdain.  Even though the undead would take the field, he would win.

 

 

            Duncan slashed at a Byronic vampire who charged him, decapitating his foe.  Then he turned to a Draugr who’d tried to stumble behind him.  Next was an incubus who had turned to the Warden behind him and was latching on to the Warden’s soul.   Beside him, Cailan easily took out vampire after vampire.  Still, he felt like they were being overwhelmed.  The beacon should be lit by then.  Where was Loghain’s men?  Maeve’s warnings rang out in his head.

            Cailan ran a Byronic Vampire through and then cut off its head.  “Where are those reinforcements?”

            “I don’t know, Your Highness,” Duncan kicked at an opponent.  He turned and noticed a dark grey man standing on the wall of Ostagar.  Then he swore he heard a keening wail on the wind.  He’d heard Maeve mention hearing that sound and seeing a red-haired mystery woman their last day in Highever.  She again claimed to see a similar, but definitely not the same, woman the night before.  He shook his head; the young lady’s imagination was rubbing off on him.  He ignored the music he thought he heard and then turned at a roar.

            A large nosferatu had appeared before them.  The thing that had once been a large man carried a claymore sword.  It grabbed Cailan with one hand, looked him in the eyes, and let out a battle cry.  Then it stabbed it’s very large sword into the king’s shoulder before picking him up again and draining his blood.

            “No!”  He’d failed.  Duncan had failed to protect his king.

            With his last breaths of life, Cailan looked to Duncan.  “Protect Alistair and Maeve for me.”

            “With my last drop of blood, Your Majesty,” Duncan swore, lifting the hilt of his sword to his forehead.

            The nosferatu finished off the king and threw his body at the Crimson Wardens, who were slowly being picked off.  Duncan didn’t see the sword that pierced his back and it didn’t matter.  He faced the creature that had killed his friend, his liege.  He embedded a stake in its chest and then cut off its head.  He slowly made his way to Cailan’s remains.  Deep sorrow and regret overwhelmed him as he watched his fellow Crimson Wardens fall around him.  They had needed the reinforcements that never came.  Bowing his head in despair, he let tears fall, and then a light caught his eye.  The beacon at the Tower of Ishal was lit.  Loghain had betrayed them, yet in that anguish hope flared.  Alistair and Maeve had made it, they were still alive.  He saw the Byronic vampire running towards him, a double bladed axe in his hands.  Duncan stood to meet him.

            The vampire swung.


	21. Some Lived To Accuse Him, Who Fled Instead of Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dragon appears at the top of the Tower of Ishal and a couple of Mages survive.

At the top of the Tower of Ishal, Maeve and Alistair stood shoulder to shoulder with VanHowling in front of them. 

            “If they turn me into a vampire, you’re the first one I’m coming after,” Maeve warned Alistair.

            “Why me?” He pouted.  “Besides, they’ll have already drained me, because I’m a nummy treat, or I will be undead as well.  In that case, we should join forces and rule the Deep Roads together,” he gave a faux maniacal laugh.

            “Together, then,” she agreed.  “I expect an equal partnership is this rule”

            “Of course,” he eyed the undead.

            VanHowling whined at their feet.

            “Oh, you’re going to live,” Maeve assured him as she beheaded a Draugr and then took on a lamia.  She glanced at Alistair who was dealing with an incubus and nosferatu.  She couldn’t see how they were going to get out of this mess.

            Then a rumble filled the air, followed by a roar.  A dragon flew in and blew flame at the undead that were surging towards their still living prey.  Several of the creatures went up like a Tevinter Candle.  It’s black and gold scales gleamed.  Before the three who’d been fending off the vampires could react, it scooped them up in its large claws and flew out of the tower.

            “Shouldn’t we try and escape?” Alistair yelled to Maeve.

            “I don’t think so,” she looked down.  “It’s a very long drop.”  Below her she could see flames coming from the battlefield of Ostagar.  There were a lot of vampires down there.

            Several lamias tried to pursue the dragon, thinking in their pride that they could take on the majestic creature.  They were roasted for their trouble.  The dragon continued on into the Korcari Forest.

 

 

            Sabina looked at the dragon that swept past them and then at the nosferatu who was rushing at her.  She struck him with a bolt of lightning.  The lightning sent the creature flying backwards, but it stood back up and charged at her again.  She cast ice at its neck, but it continued to rush towards her.  She followed the freezing spell with a strong bolt of lightning.  The freezing and bolt worked together and the creature’s head went flying.

            From behind her, Wynne gasped.  “Loghain’s soldiers just quit the field!”

            “He left us to die?”  Sabina extended a hand and shot chain lightning at the retreating soldiers, knocking one from his horse.   “This betrayal shall not be forgotten or forgiven.”  She then turned her magic back on the horde, combining ice and lightning to take more heads. 

            “You can’t take on a whole army by yourself,” Wynne gently reminded her as she worked to heal a mage beside Sabina.  Then she gasped.  “The king is dead!”

            “How convenient for Loghain,” Sabina threw a ball of electricity at the charging horde.

            “Now they have Duncan!  The Crimson Wardens are falling like flies!”  Wynne continued to narrate.  “We’ve lost.”

            “This is no longer a battle, it a vampire banquet,” Sabine grabbed Wynne’s arm.  “Let’s get you back to Kinloch.”

            “We’re both going back,” Wynne let Sabine drag her along.  “Your Jowan will be missing you.”

            “Jowan’s taken up with a Chantry initiate and doesn’t think I know,” a Byronic vampire sprang up behind them, grabbing Sabine.  Sabine slammed the back of her head against the creatures jaw.  She then clasped the arm holding her and used it to flip the vampire over and drove the end of her sharpened wooden staff into the creature’s heart, easily breaking through the sternum.  “Besides, I have to go find help.  There are no Crimson Wardens left.  They weren’t dropping like flies; they were dying like snowflakes on a hot summer’s day.  They’re all gone.”

            “Why do you feel that you must be the one to find help?” Wynne challenged.  “Child, you already have a path.  You are a talented mage who is an asset to our collective.”

            “I’m one of the chosen ones,” Sabine revealed, as she pulled Wynne up a hill towards the old ruins of Ostagar.  The lightning continued to cast strange shadows behind the women.  There was a road leading back towards Lothering that way.  “I was born with the Mark.  I’m going to find some of the others, those who are like me.  We may not know how to do the Crimson Warden’s joining, but we have been gifted with special abilities… and thus we have a duty to stop these creatures.”

            Wynne wasn’t looking at Sabina, but rather at the shadow she was casting behind her.  It was flames with a griffon rising out of them.  “All right, but let’s just get out of here first.”


	22. Gift Horses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flemeth and Alistair discuss plans and Flemeth sends him away with Morrigan. Maeve is reunited with a friend.

Maeve slowly opened her eyes.  She was lying on a stiff mattress and had a bad headache.  “What happened?”

            “Your eyes are finally open,” a familiar dark haired woman in scandalous clothing appeared.  “Mother should be pleased.”

            “What happened to the vampires?  They were converging on us,” Maeve recalled.  “Then there was a dragon… that part had to have been a dream.”

            “You were being overwhelmed by an army of the undead and then mother rescued you,” Morrigan informed her.  “Do you not remember?”

            “No,” she sat up.  “Wait!  What happened to the army… to Cail… to the king?”

            “The man who was to respond to your signal quit the field,” Morrigan’s voice was matter of fact.  “The vampires won your battle.  Those who were abandoned were all slaughtered.  Your friend, he is not taking it well.”

            Maeve pulled her legs up to her chest and laid her head on her knees as tears started to flow.  First her family was lost, as far as she knew Fergus was killed as the army approached.  Now Cailan, her new husband, was taken from her.  He may not have been her great love, but he was a good husband to her for their very short marriage and a good friend.  Plus, Duncan was gone.  Sure, he’d conscripted her, but he’d also fought at her side and made sure she didn’t die at the hands of the treacherous Howes.  Her beloved horse, Amanda.  All of those other people, as well.  The mage she’d met the previous morning, the annoying elderly mage who asked too many questions, the guard who explained that they were all slaves to fate, Andrew: the Stallion, everyone.  She’d been right about Loghain, yet no one had listened.

            “I see that you are not taking it well, either,” Morrigan huffed.  “You will stop that at once.  I refuse to be surrounded by blubbering idiots!”

            “I was right,” Maeve formed the words.  “I told him time and again that Loghain couldn’t be trusted.  I’m now a widow because my husband wouldn’t listen to me!”

            “That’s better,” Morrigan approved.

            Maeve looked up at her.  “You mentioned my friend.  Do you mean Alistair?”

            “The suspicious, dimwitted one who was with you before?” Morrigan clarified.  “Yes.  He is outside by the fire.  Mother asked to see you both when you awoke.”

            “Why does your mother want to see me,” Maeve still sniffled.

            “I do not know,” Morrigan didn’t ask her mother these things.  “She rarely tells me her plans.”

            “Where is VanHowling?”  She looked around for her dog.

            “Your mangy companion is with your dog now, by the fire,” Morrigan waved off Maeve’s concerns. 

            “Is Alistair all right?” Maeve sniffed, trying to contain her tears.

            “He is, as you are,” Morrigan had grown impatient.  “I suppose it would be unkind to say he is being childish.”

            “Those were his friends who were slaughtered in that battle!” Maeve gasped, which did cause her tears to stop.

            “And you think they would encourage you two blubbering?” Morrigan did not believe so.  “If so, they are not the sort of Crimson Wardens the legends note.”

            “Are we safe here?”  Maeve stood and pulled her clothes back in order.

            “Mother’s magic keeps the vampires away,” Morrigan assured her.  “Once you leave, ‘tis uncertain what will happen.  The horde has moved on, so you might avoid it.”

            “Why did your mother save us?” Maeve checked her swords.  Both the sword of Faith and the Sword of Cousland were in excellent shape.

            “I wondered that myself,” Morrigan conceded.  “But she tells me nothing.  Perhaps you were the only ones she could reach.  I would have rescued your king.  A king would have been worth a much higher ransom than you.”

            “Yes, he probably would,” she checked her belongings and found the bag Sabine had given her.  “Although, I would fetch a nice price myself.  I am the daughter of the duke and the king’s new wife.  Anora would probably pay for you to kill me now, but I don’t suggest you do it.  She is not a reliable debtor.  Were there any survivors?”

            “There are only stragglers now and they are long gone,” Morrigan assured her.  “I would hate to be lost in that valley now.”

            “Why?”  Were there wounded there who could use help.

            “I have overlooked the scene of destruction and saw those undead swarming among the casualties, feeding,” Morrigan revealed.  “Those who were not dead yet, they took underground with them.”

            “So those survivors can be rescued?”  Maeve looked back towards where she believed Ostagar was.

            “Only if you’re willing to run into the midst of the horde,” Morrigan snorted.  “Then they will just feast on that sweet blood of yours until you are dead.”

            “I’ll go talk to your mother,” she hated to abandon survivors, but she had no idea where they even were now.  She walked out the door. 

            Alistair was gazing, stonily, at a lake and VanHowling was chasing fireflies when Maeve stepped outside.

            “See,” Morrigan’s mother gave a little laugh.  “Here is your companion.  You worry too much, young man.”

            Alistair turned to face Maeve.  “You, you’re alive.”  He voice was soft.  “I thought you were dead for sure.”

            “You didn’t think I’d abandon you, did you?” She was delighted that he seemed all right.  “I told you that if they turned me, I’d come back for you and you promised we’d take over the Deep Roads together.”

            “This doesn’t seem real,” he still had tear tracks on his face.  “If it weren’t for Morrigan’s mother, we’d be dead on top of that tower.”

            “Do not talk about me as if I was not present, lad,” Morrigan’s mother reprehended him.

            “I… I didn’t mean…” Alistair stumbled.  “But… but what do we call you?  You… you never… told us your name.”

            “Names are pretty, but useless,” the old woman shrugged.  “The Chasind Folk and Witches of the Wild all call me Flemeth.  I suppose it will do.”

            “You’re _the_ Flemeth, from the legends?”  Alistair had heard of the woman.  Her name came up in historical legends as well as fairytales.  She was used as the model for the evil witch who lurked in the woods.  “Daveth was right!”

            “So why did you save us?”  Maeve wondered.

            “Well, it is the Crimson Wardens duty to protect us from the encroaching undead, is it not?” Flemeth pointed out.  “Or did that change when I wasn’t looking.”

            “Of course not, but I’m not a Crimson Warden,” Maeve pointed out.

            “Don’t abandon me now,” Alistair pleaded.  “But we were driving the undead back.  Why would Loghain do this?”

            “Don’t ask me,” Flemeth shrugged.  “Men’s hearts hold shadows darker than any demon or corrupted undead.”

            “The king and Loghain were not on good terms,” Maeve revealed.  “Alistair, you saw some of the fights between them.  Loghain let me know how he felt about me usurping his daughter’s place, he wouldn’t have been any happier with Cailan over it.  This was far from their only point of contention, too.  Plus, there are rumors circulating around the nobles, rumors about Anora… and Loghain.  No one doubts that Anora was unfaithful and some think she might have done… even worse things.  There is no proof, so no one has confronted her with it.”

            “You aren’t suggesting…”  Alistair didn’t even want to finish that thought. 

            Flemeth just chuckled.  “I have heard of… and seen… worse.”

            “Not many know of the king’s divorce from Anora and they believe her to still be queen.   Loghain is her father, and the Duke of Gwaren.  He’ll be after the throne,” Alistair realized.  Only the Couslands could stand against him.”

“I’m the only one of those left,” Maeve pointed out. 

“Still… what do you mean… never mind… how does he expect to defeat the undead?” Alistair didn’t want to think of the duke and queen’s possible _other_ relationships. 

            “Perhaps he thinks he can defeat them,” Flemeth suggested.  “He does not see the true threat.”

            “You mean the Vampire King,” Alistair’s voice grew more firm.

            “Alistair is the only real Crimson Warden here,” Maeve revealed.  “I’m not.  I didn’t go through the Joining.”

            “All of the Crimson Wardens in Ferelden are gone, except for us,” Alistair’s eyes turned pleading.  “You bear the Mark, you _are_ a Chosen One.  I need your help.  I’ve lost everyone.  For the love of the Maker, don’t leave me now.  I need you, Maeve.”

            “I just lost my family, Alistair,” Maeve revealed.  “I know how you feel.”

            “We can’t let their deaths be in vain,” he insisted.  He’d heard rumors of Bryce Cousland’s death, but hadn’t realized the House had been wiped out.  He made a mental note to talk to Maeve about it later, when they were alone.

            “Ah to have lost so much, it must be hard to not cling to hope,” Flemeth tsked.  “You two have much in common.”

            “I can’t do this on my own,” Alistair pleaded to Maeve.  “We have to do something.”

            “Alistair…  Before I left Highever, a friend looked into my future,” Maeve divulged to him.  “She saw the Vampire King in my future.  No matter which of two paths lay before me, he was there.  She said… she saw the actual Vampire King; he was looking at her through the ball.  He may have been looking at me.”

            “At you? Why?” Alistair had never heard of… yes, he had heard of Vampire Kings and Queens looking for one specific person.  “She didn’t suggest you might be his _mate_ , did she?”

            “Oh, ho,” Flemeth crowed.  “She does have the requisite hair and eyes of a mate.”

            Maeve turned to look at the water of the lake as Alistair and Flemeth went on about the treaties and going to build an army to fight the archdemon.  At least he wasn’t proposing that they kill her in case she was the Vampire King’s mate, she was sure that was what Duncan would do.  At first, all she saw in the water was her own reflection.  Then it began to shimmer.  She saw a griffon tumbling towards a flame, then a bolt of lightning hit the griffon, knocking it away from the flames.  Next she saw a rose, but a sharpened ankh pierced it.  Yet a sun with a circle around it appeared and burned the ankh to a crisp and the rose was revealed to be unharmed.  She’d never had the Sight before and had no idea what the symbols might mean.

            “Maeve?” Alistair touched her arm and she jumped.  “Have you been listening?”

            Not really, no.  He was the Crimson Warden, after all.  She would just go along as support.  “I’m sorry, I was… distracted.”

            VanHolwing bumped her legs so she moved away from the water.

            “So we are set,” Alistair deduced.  “We’ll head to Lothering for supplies and then decide whether we are going to Redcliffe, to find the Dalish elves, or to Orzammar next.”

            “Before you go, I have one more thing to offer you as help,” Flemeth declared.

            Maeve and Alistair both hoped she meant money.

            “So,” Morrigan walked up to them.  “What shall it be mother.  Shall we have two guests for the evening or none?”  Her expression told which of the two options she would prefer.

            VanHowling grumbled at her, not liking that he’d been left out.

            “The Crimson Wardens are leaving shortly, girl,” Flemeth informed her daughter.  “And you will be joining them.”

            “Such a shame… What?”  Morrigan had taken a second to process that last part.

            “You heard me,” Flemeth was far from senile and knew Morrigan wasn’t deaf.  “The last time I looked, you had ears.”  She laughed at her own bad joke.

            “A Witch of the Wilds will be helpful in our travels,” Maeve agreed.  No one knew how to survive in the less habited places of Ferelden better than a Chasind or a Witch of the Wilds.

            “Have I no say in this,” Morrigan protested.

            “You have been itching to get out of the forests and wilds for years,” Flemeth reminded her.  “Here is your chance.   As for you Wardens, consider this repayment for your lives.”

            “Not to look a gift horse in the mouth,” Alistair protested.  “But won’t this add to our problems?  In the cities, people tend to be afraid of Witches of the Wild and her dress alone will be considered scandalous.”

            “If you only care about what others think and don’t want help from us scary witches, boy, perhaps I should have left you on that tower,” Flemeth looked down her nose at him.

            “Point taken,” Alistair grumbled.

            “Mother,” Morrigan protested.  “This is not how I wanted this.  I’m not even ready.”

            “You must be ready,” Flemeth insisted.  “Alone, these two must unite Ferelden against the vampiric forces.  They need you, Morrigan.  Without you, they will surely fail and all will parish under the Blight, even I.”

            “I… understand,” Morrigan conceded.

            “And you Wardens, do you understand?” Flemeth asked.  “I give you that which I value above all in this world.  I do this because you _must_ succeed.”

            “Sure, no pressure,” Maeve batted her eyelashes at Flemeth and gave her a sardonic smile.

            “Allow me to get my things, if you please,” Morrigan returned to the hut for a few minutes.  “All right, let’s get to this.  I will guide you to Lothering.  I can tell you what the town has to offer or I will just be your silent guide.  The choice is yours.”

            “No, I would prefer that you speak your mind,” Maeve assured her.  “I value your opinion.”

            Flemeth laughed yet again.  “You’ll regret saying that.”

            “I regret many things in life,” Maeve shrugged.  “I doubt this will even make the top ten list.  Why don’t we get underway?  Is there a coach between here and the town?”

            “Not one that doesn’t have a driver that has already had their blood drained,” Morrigan’s voice was oddly cheerful.  “Some of the horses were lucky enough to escape first, but only a few.”

            “Lead the way,” Maeve held out a hand. 

            “Do we really want to take her because her mother said so,” Alistair protested.

            “Look, we need all the help we can get,” Maeve followed Morrigan.  “If it weren’t for her mother, we’d either be dead or undead now.”

            VanHowling barked in agreement.

            “Good point,” Alistair conceded.  “Still, I’d liked to have had a horse or other means of transportation.  This reminds me of walking too much.”

            There was the sound of hooves and a neighing in response.  Maeve knew that neigh.  “Amanda?”

            Sure enough, Amanda galloped to her.  Andrew was a few gaits behind her.  Maeve threw her arms around her horse and began crying.

            “Oh, not this again,” Morrigan grumbled.  “When are you two going to be done with the waterworks?” 

            “It’s my Amanda,” Maeve wailed.  She thanked the Maker that this beloved piece of home had survived.  “She escaped and found me,” she managed between tears.

            “Isn’t that lovely?” Sarcasm dripped from Morrigan’s voice.

            When Maeve had her tears back under control, she addressed her beloved mare.  “There are other horses running around the countryside according to our witch.  Can you two help us find and catch one?  Their humans were foully killed by the horrid undead.”

            Amanda neighed in response, nodding before nuzzling her human again.  Then she lowered her head to share a head bump with VanHowling.

            An hour later, the group had four horses, which included Andrew, and were riding towards Lothering.


	23. Only Mostly Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A discovery is made at Ostagar and alliances are brewing

“Oh look,” an incubus who was searching through the remains at Ostagar had found the pile of dead waiting to be cremated.  “It’s like a banquet where all of the food has been allowed to spoil.”

“That’s too bad,” a succubus came to stand beside him.  “To think they were going to just throw all of them onto a pyre so none could rise again.  What a waste.”

“What are you two doing?” a Byronic vampire approached them.

“We are bemoaning the waste of such a potential meal,” the incubus was kicking one lifeless body after another.  Many had been bitten or drained, but none would rise again.  Not yet.  He went to kick another when the Byronic vampire stopped him.

“Wait, he isn’t dead yet,” the vampire examined the body.  “I don’t see any bite marks.  Shall we fix that?”

 

 

Tamlen gazed at Nymphadora as she played her fiddle, eyes closed and bow moving rapidly across string.  The first time he’d woken after stepping through the mirror and saw her like this, he’d thought he was dreaming.  Now he knew he wasn’t in a dream, he was in a nightmare.

            She stopped for a moment and cocked her head.  “I can hear your stomach growling.”

            “I’m not going to go into Orzammar and start killing dwarves,” he objected.

            “I know, I don’t want to kill people either,” she agreed.  They had been pulled through the mysterious mirror, which was apparently called and eluvian, and found themselves in the middle of the Deep Roads, surrounded by vampires.  The evil dead creatures didn’t just grab them and drain them of life, even though that is what they had expected to happen.  The mirror had done something to them and they were already converting to vampires.  It seemed there was a curse in the particular mirror they had gone through.  The vampires around them just shrugged and waited to see if they survived the change.  Unfortunately, they had.  Now the pair found themselves living in a gilded world of shadows and darkness, without their beloved son.  Yet there was something different about them, neither had any desire to take human, elf, or dwarf lives.  “We could go further into the roads and hunt deepstalkers and nugs.”

            Tamlen nodded.  “Do we have to ask his holiness’ permission first?”  He seemed bound to obey anything the Vampire King decreed, but that didn’t mean he liked it.

            “If you want to,” Dora shrugged.  Unlike Tamlen, she strangely felt no compunction to follow the Vampire King, whether he was an Old God or not.  “I don’t see why we can’t go into the caves on our own.”

            “I’ll just let one of his lieutenants know,” Tamlen decided.

            “Or we could just go,” Dora countered.

            “We can’t just…”  A commotion cut off Tamlen’s words.

            The couple hurried to the Royal Square.  It had once been a market place in a dwarven Thaig, but now Razkiel held court there, sitting on his plush throne.  Several soldiers had entered the Thaig, with prisoners.

            “Dinner!”  One nosferatu crowed.

            “Oooh, look at this one,” an incubus went to one of the soldiers and began running her hands over his chest.  “I want this one; I shall take my time on him.”

            The man struggled at first, but then stilled and found himself gazing rapturedly at the incubus’ chest.  “O.K.”

            “Snap out of it man,” a dark haired soldier, in a red and black uniform, ordered.

            “Aren’t those Crimson Warden uniforms?” Dora pointed to the man who had spoken and several other soldiers.

            “I don’t know,” Tamlen shrugged.

            “Bring him before me,” Urthemiel indicated the dark haired soldier in the Crimson Warden uniform.

            “But I was going to have him for dinner,” the vampire holding the soldier whined.  “I hear the Marked ones taste better than other people.”

            Urthemiel stood and, in one swift motion, and beheaded the other vampire.  Then he sat down on his throne again.  “Bring him to me.” 

            Two others grabbed the man and dragged him before the Vampire King.   “You will not win,” the man defiantly lifted his head and gazed boldly at Urthemiel.

            The Vampire King just laughed.  “Of course I will.  I have already destroyed the Crimson Wardens, they are gone.  Yet, I’ve seen you before.  You were trying to hide _her_ from me.  You remember.  You killed the men I sent after you… Duncan.”

            “I admit that I had help, but they are truly dead now,” Duncan put his hands in his pockets and gave a slight smile.

            “Who helped you?” The Vampire King demanded to know.

            “She was just a young recruit,” Duncan waved off any concern about her.  “She was highly skilled in combat, but didn’t successfully make it through the Joining.”

            “Did anyone else see the recruit?”  The Vampire King looked not at his own vampires, but at the prisoners they had brought with them.  Most looked down, refusing to say anything.

            “I will spare the one who describes her to me and tells me her real fate,” the king offered.

            “It was Bryce Cousland’s daughter,” Arl Urien spoke.  “She has fiery red curls and dark green eyes.  She is rather beautiful and it has been claimed that she has the most beautiful face in Ferelden; it is a lovely sight to behold.  She fights in the rogue style, like her mother.  I don’t know if she is still alive or not.  She was as of the morning of the battle; King Cailan wouldn’t let her go through the joining.”

            “Very good,” Urthemiel turned to his second in command and nodded.  The nosferatu grabbed Urien and dragged him away.

            “Wait!”  Urien objected.  “You said you’d let me live!” 

            “Life, undeath, whatever,” the king shrugged and then turned his attention back to Duncan.  “Where is this Little Duchess?”

            “I don’t know,” Duncan shrugged, it was the truth.  He knew the beacon had been lit atop the Tower of Ishal, but that was all he knew.

            “You were the Crimson Warden recruiter,” Urthemiel cocked his head at him.  “You used all of your energy to fight us and failed.  I thought it fitting that I should drain your hearts blood myself, so in the end you’d know that your actions were futile.  You would realize that not only shall I conquer this world and rule again, but with my mate I would bring a new future.  If my mate is this Little Duchess that you tried to keep from me, it would have been wiser for you to kill her.  Still, perhaps she’s not and you just brought in another of your pathetic Chosen Ones to try and stop me, which she would, naturally, fail to do.  I think you should be around to watch, either way.  You will either see her life’s blood pour down my throat or her stand by my side as my queen.  Yes, you shall not be drained.  You shall become one of us.  Bring him forth.”

 

 

            Tamlen turned to Dora as they watched the head of Ferelden’s Crimson Wardens being turned into a vampire by the Vampire king himself.  The man did not cry out.  He did resist when he was forced to drink some of Urthemiel’s blood, but failed, and the Vampire King’s blood mixed with his.  Still, he was dignified the entire time, he kept his head held high and refused to show any fear.  “Why don’t we just go and hunt in the roads?”

            “In a bit,” Dora promised.  She wanted to see what would happen to the Crimson Warden next.  She’d never heard of one of them being turned, much less by a Vampire King.  Would he be more debauched, more deadly, or more vicious of a hunter?

            “Curiosity killed the nug and many a Dalish,” Tamlen reminded her.

            “We’re already dead,” she pointed out.


	24. Loathing in Lothering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maeve and company enter Lothering

Twilight was falling by the time Maeve and her friends had reached the road near Lothering.  Shadows were popping up on the roads and the wind was causing trees to creek.

            “’Tis best we get to the town before nightfall,” Morrigan advised.  “We may not be able to get past the walls once the sun has finished setting.”

            “Hmm…”  Maeve wondered if the city would keep them out with so many refugees coming through.  She was a little worried that among those refugees she’d already seen might be some who were in the midst of turning.  They’d consumed vampire blood and even now were dying and would be reborn as a Makerless monster.

            As they reached halfway across the bridged that passed Lothering, she noticed a group of men, in pieced together uniforms, who were rummaging through wagons and carts.  This didn’t look good.

            One of the men approached them.  “Chop, chop, gentlemen.  More travelers to attend to.”

            “Look at the pretty horses they’ve got, especially that white mare,” one of the men indicated Amanda.

            “Touch my horse and you’ll lose your hand,” Maeve warned.

            The man who appeared to be in charge stopped before Maeve.  “I’d guess the beautiful one is the leader.”

            “Uh, they don’t look much like them others,” another of the men warned.  “Maybe we should just let these ones pass.”

            “Nonsense, Stephen,” the leader disagreed.  He turned back to Maeve who was slowly sliding off her horse, her companions followed suit.  “Greetings, travelers.”

            “I thought I was the beautiful one,” Alistair objected, before stepping beside Maeve and speaking quietly to them.  “They’re highwaymen, preying on those fleeing the vampiric horde I suppose.”

            “They are fools to get in our way,” Morrigan deduced.  “I say we teach them a lesson.”

            “Now is that anyway to greet someone,” the leader objected.  “A simple ten silver and you’re free to move on.”

            “You should listen to Stephen the Lesser Idiot over there,” Maeve warned.  “We’re not simple refugees.”

            “What did I tell you,” Stephen felt superior.  He was less of an idiot than Chris, not that that was hard.  “No wagons and this one looks armed.”

            “The toll applies to everyone, Steve,” Chris pointed out.  “That’s why it’s a toll and not, say a refugee tax.”

            “Oh, right,” Stephen turned back towards Maeve’s group.  “Even if you’re no refugee, you’ve still got to pay.”

            “Do you think, I’m dumb enough to believe you’re toll collectors,” Maeve unsheathed both of her swords.  “You see, I know that the earl is no longer in residence.  I even knew the king personally.  There are no toll roads in this part of Ferelden.  The railway system never even reached this far, not that anyone wants those used again.  Not since… well, let’s just say that the vampires liked trains a little too much.”

            “Well we’re just going to rob you,” Stephen explained.  “It’s what we do.”

            VanHowling stepped beside his mistress and growled.

            “You won’t be getting a ha’penny from us,” Maeve countered.  “If I were you, I wouldn’t try.  But I’m not you, I’m me, and I’m hoping you’ll try.”

            “You do realize I’m your worst nightmare, right?”  Alistair looked them over.  “No?  Well, I am.  Wait no…” He hooked his thumb at Morrigan.  “She is, she swoops.”

            “Why don’t you hand over all of the money you’ve taken and we’ll only drag your still breathing carcasses to the Templars,” Maeve suggested. 

            “That’s not going to happen,” Chris laughed.  “That’s not how we do this.”

            “Right, we get to ransack your corpse, then,” Stephen declared.  “Those are the rules.”

            “This isn’t going to be easy,” Alistair warned.  “There is going to be bloodshed and tears.  I am a Crimson Warden after all.”

            “Did he just say Crimson Warden?” Chris became excited.  “They’re the ones who murdered the king.  Loghain put a huge bounty on their head.  We’ll be set for life.  It’s our lucky day, boys.”

            “Luck is a fickle mistress,” Maeve grinned at her companions.  “It’s time to enjoy a bit of sport.”  She turned to the thieves.  “Come and get it, big boys.”  She kicked Chris below the belt and playfully nicked his neck before blending into the shadows and reappearing behind him.  She crossed both of her swords at his neck and then swept her arms out so his head went flying.

            Morrigan sent a cone of cold at Stephen and froze him.  Then she threw a fireball at another of the thieves, as VanHowling chomped into Stephen’s neck, pulling out half of it and flinging it towards the robber’s companions.  He peed on the body for good measure.

            Alistair engaged two of the other robbers.  He bashed one with his shield as he easily ran the other through.  He went to kill the first one, but Maeve already had her sword in the mugger and was piercing his heart.  He turned to see three left.  VanHowling tore into one of them and Morrigan turned into a giant spider and started chomping on the second.  “Ew,” he looked over at Maeve.  “Did you know she could do that?”

            “Nope,” she shook her head and approached the last thief.  The thief tried to charge her, only to have Maeve side step and Alistair lung at him.  Alistair and Maeve’s sword’s crossed halfway through his neck.

            “We work well together,” Alistair smiled at her.

            “So we do,” Maeve agreed.  “Let’s loot this operation.  We could use some coin ourselves.  Between running from Highever and then being rescued from Ostagar, I’m lower on funds than I like to be.”

            They found the highwaymen’s stash of silver, gold, and other coins easily.  They also took what goods they could easily sell.  There were a few weapons, but nothing better than they were already carrying.  They also discovered the body of a Templar. 

            “Poor man,” Alistair leaned over him.  “None of us can give him last rights.”  He searched for identification and found an antique pocket watch and a letter.  “Hopefully, this town will still have some Templars keeping the peace.  They may be able to deliver this,” he held up the letter.

            “Let’s get to Lothering before it gets much darker,” Maeve mounted Amanda and waited for the others to join her on their mounts.

 

 

            They arrived at the gates of Lothering fifteen minutes after leaving the bandits.  “Halt,” there were two Templars at the gate; it had been one of them who’d spoken.

            Maeve slowly slid from her mare.  “Is there a problem, officer?”

            “Yes, there’s a problem,” the Templar answered.  “About a thousand years ago, a group of Tevinter Magisters decided to break into the Golden City.  The Maker decided to punish all of us for their hubris and now we are plagued by the Undead.  We need to make sure you are not now among them.”

            “That’s understandable,” Maeve nodded.  “What do you need us to do?”

            “First you will each step here,” the other Templar spoke.  She revealed a large mirror set in the wall beside her.  We’ll check you for a reflection.”

            Maeve stepped in front of the mirror and the others followed suit.  VanHowling cocked his head, admiring his reflection.

            “Remove your choker,” the Templar instructed next.  “I’m going to check you for bite marks.  The female Templar took Maeve and Morrigan aside while the male had Alistair unbutton his coat and open his shirt.

            Maeve snuck a look over at her male companion as the Templar inspected him.  His abs and chest muscles were well defined, even more so than Cailan’s had been.

            “My lady, let’s be respectful,” the Templar who was now inspecting her chest reprimanded her.

            “Yes, ma’am,” Maeve blushed.

            The Templar finished with her and moved to Morrigan.

            “What do you think you are doing?” Morrigan was indignant.  “Where are those hands going?”

            “She’s just making sure you haven’t been bit,” Maeve assured her companion.  “It’s nothing personal.”

            “It better not be,” Morrigan stewed as she was examined.

            It only took half an hour before the small group was given the OK to go into the city.

“How are things in Lothering?” Maeve wondered.  She knew the vampiric horde would be traveling north from Ostagar.

“Tense,” one of the Templars answered.  “News of the defeat at Ostagar and the death of the king have reached us.  There are more and more refugees fleeing here, but the horde can’t be that far behind them.  Plus, there are now bandits clogging the roads.  One dare not step outside of the city at night.  Between the undead and robbers, you wouldn’t get twenty feet before being set upon by one or the other.  I’m surprised they haven’t cut down each other’s numbers.”

“We’d only end up with vampire highwaymen,” his companion responded.  “I’m surprised we don’t already have vampire highwaymen, and vampire pirates for that matter.”

“I wouldn’t tarry too long here if I were you,” the first Templar advised.

“We need a goodnight’s rest and to trade for supplies, at least,” Maeve decided. 

“We also need dinner,” Alistair added.  VanHowling barked in agreement.

“I would also suggest getting your friend here some decent clothes,” the second Templar indicated Morrigan.  “She looks like a Witch of the Wilds and that neckline is scandalous.”

“’Tis your decision whether to be scandalized or not,” Morrigan retorted.  “I shall not change the way I dress for you.  If I offend, look away.  It matters not to me.”

“There is a tavern nearby, Dane’s Refuge,” the first Templar instructed.  “I’m not sure if he has any beds left or any food left, for that matter, but you can try there.”


	25. Nun Violence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leliana meets the heroes and helps. Maeve and Alistair talk about Fate and get drunk.

Maeve and Alistair found the tavern with just a little bit of trouble.  The sun was setting and thunder could be heard in the background.  They encountered a few refugees and passed a few doomsayers, but finally located Dane’s Refuge.  When they walked in, it was apparent that too many had taken refuge with Dane.  The place was packed.  Still, there were minstrels playing and the conversation was muted.  A large fire burned in the hearth and many crowded near it.  Their shadows danced across the wall, convoluting into grotesque shapes.

“I wonder if we’ll even find a spot on the floor to sleep,” Alistair murmured.

“It’s safer than camping,” Maeve countered.

“True… or not,” he stopped as a group of men in uniform’s that identified them as part of Loghain’s army approached them. 

Maeve ignored the soldiers and went to the tavern keeper.  “I need three rooms, please.”

“We’re full, my lady,” the tavern keeper shook his head.  “I’d send you to the chantry, but they aren’t taking anyone else.  I’d hate for a fine lady, such as yourself, to sleep outside with no protection against the elements or the things that go bump in the night, but I don’t know how I can help you unless you want to go and build another floor onto the tavern or create more room in the back.  You’ll have to move the refugees back there, though.”

One of the soldiers had the rank of lieutenant on his black and gold uniform maneuvered to get into Maeve’s face.  “Well, look what we have here, men.”  He studied Maeve and Alistair for a moment and then turned to his companions.  “I think we’ve been blessed.”

“Didn’t we spend all morning asking about a man and woman who look just like these two and everyone said they hadn’t seen them?” A man with a sergeant’s insignia asked.

“It seems we were lied to,” the lieutenant was obviously not happy.

“Gentlemen, surely there is no need for trouble,” a nun with a light Orlesian accent stepped up beside them.  She was in a full habit and wore a large iron cross.  “These are no doubt simply more poor souls seeking refuge.”

“They’re more than that,” the lieutenant insisted.  “Now stay out of our way, Sister.  If you protect these traitors, you’ll get the same as them.”

“Excuse me, I am trying to get a room right now,” Maeve batted her eyelashes at him.  “You are getting in my way, and I do not appreciate how close you are to me our how you are to me.  Also, I do not appreciate your tone of voice.  We have not even been properly introduced.  We can talk about this other matter later.”

“I doubt he will listen,” the nun advised.  “He is blindly following his master’s commands.  He should be following the commands of the Maker instead.”

“I am not the blind one!”  The lieutenant roared.  “I served at Ostagar, where the duke saved us from the Crimson Warden’s treachery!  I serve him gladly!”

“I never saw you at Ostagar and I am no Crimson Warden,” Maeve countered.  “If you were there, you likely know who I really am and what reasons Duke Loghain would have for treachery of his own.”

“Enough talk!”  The lieutenant roared.  He turned to the corporal.  “Take the Wardens into custody.  Kill the Sister and anyone else who gets in your way.”

“You would kill a nun!”  Maeve gasped.  “I did not realize that Loghain’s cronies would sink to Nun Violence.”

“Right!”  The corporal would sink to Nun Violence.  “Let’s make this quick!”

“Oh, it will be quick all right,” Alistair drew out his sword and shield.

“I would like to introduce you to the Sword of Faith and the Sword of Cousland,” Maeve told the lieutenant.  “I will be killing you with them today.”

“I shall be using Sir Pointy,” Alistair added.

Two dozen other men jumped up, all wearing the uniform of Loghain’s army.  The refugees cringed against the wall, trying to get out of the way.  The nun unsheathed a long sword of her own and moved to a fighting stance.

The lieutenant jumped out of the way, letting those under his command do his dirty work.  Maeve kicked the first man who came after her below the belt and then easily ran him through, not even bothering to aim for the heart.  Then she swept out her swords, easily injuring one soldier and killing another.  She dodged a blow meant for her and pivoted so she was now flanking the opponent.  She crossed her arms, bisecting him, before dodging another sword and facing the next enemy.

Alistair started with a shield bash, hitting one soldier and running another through.  He then lunged at a third soldier while blocking another’s blade with his shield.  These were the men who had gladly left Duncan and Cailan to die on the battlefield of Ostagar.  He would avenge them and these men were but a prelude to what he would do to Loghain one day.  Sir Pointy sang as he felled one soldier after another.

The nun had many secrets; among those was a life outside of a cloister.  She hadn’t always been a Chantry Sister.  She cut into the corporal who was trying to kill her.  Then she stunned him with her left hand, allowing for a second, more deadly, cut.  She then moved on to the next soldier and yet another.

Morrigan laughed happily at the beginning of the battle.  These men were such fools.  She hit one with a blast of ice and the next with a fire ball.  Then she transformed into a large spider and leapt onto a third victim, tearing into him.

VanHowling jumped onto a table and howled in delight, the mere sound caused three soldiers to pause.  One actually fled out the front door and kept running from Lothering, the mabari and giant spider were enough to convince him to reconsider his career choices.  The mabari jumped on his first opponent, raking him with his large claws.  The man howled.  He dug the claws further in, silencing those screams.  He then leapt on the next victim, catching the fool’s neck in his mighty jaws and biting down.  Then it was on to the third.

In just half an hour, the lieutenant through up his hands, waving a white napkin he’d found.  “All right, you’ve won!  We surrender!”  He had less than half a dozen men left.

“Good,” the nun nodded.  “They’ve learned their lesson and we can all stop fighting, now.”

“They are Loghain’s men!” Alistair objected.

“Did you miss the part where they just tried to kill us?” Maeve wondered.  “Besides, I don’t want them reporting back to Loghain.”

“Please, wait!”  The lieutenant was beginning to wonder just how big of a mistake he had made.

“They have surrendered,” the nun fixed her wimple.  “They were no match for you.  Let them be!”

“They. Were. Going. To. Kill. Us.”  Maybe if Maeve said it slower and with more emphasis the nun would get that point.

“But they failed,” the nun was not giving up that point.  “And I do not wish death on anyone.”

“Well, I do,” Maeve admitted.  “Give them a final prayer, if you must, Sister.”

“You mean… very well,” the nun nodded.  “Dear Maker Who has abandoned the Golden City, and Whom we hope shall return to us some day, we your humbled children.  Please forgive these men their trespasses, although they were vile fools in life who deserve what is about to happen to them.  Keep them in Your sight, for they are not to be trusted and think with their swords instead of their minds.  This foolishness led them to being killed by a Crimson Warden, a peeved off noble woman, and a skank who dresses like a Witch of the Wilds.  Oh, and their dog.  May You guide them to their fate, which they would like to be at Your side, but will be determined by You as You judge them for their horrible deeds in life.  We know them to be scum, but really don’t want them haunting this nice tavern, so please guide them to their afterlife elsewhere.  In Your name, amen.”

“Amen,” Maeve and Alistair repeated.  They then turned on the lieutenant and his remaining men, quickly finishing them off.

The nun waited until all of Loghain’s soldiers were dead before approaching Maeve again.  “I apologize for interfering, but I couldn’t sit by and not help.”

“I do appreciate your assistance in this matter, Sister,” Maeve assured her.  She was still trying to figure out how a nun was such a good fighter.  She hadn’t heard of the Chantry teaching its members to fight, but it would make sense if they did.  Byronic vampires liked to targets priests and priestesses for some reason.

“And I know you did what you had to,” the nun responded, ignoring the fact that she, too, was now covered in blood.  “I do wish they had backed down, however.  Let me introduce myself.  I am Leliana, one of the lay sisters of the chantry here in Lothering.  Or rather, I was.”

“You were?” Maeve pursed her lips, confused a bit.  “What does that mean?”

“I joined the chantry to live a life of contemplation,” the nun, Leliana, explained.  “But I am no priest, not even an initiate.”

“I am Maeve,” she introduced herself.  “The man in the Crimson Warden uniform is Alistair and the Witch of the Wilds is Morrigan.  The handsome mabari is VanHowling.”

“Those men said you’re a Crimson Warden,” Leliana recalled.  “You will be battling the undead, yes?  That is what Crimson Wardens do.  I know, after what happened, you’ll need all the help you can get.  That’s why I’m coming along.”

“Did I just miss something?”  Maeve turned back to her companions.  Alistair shrugged, Morrigan shook her head, and VanHowling panted with his tongue sticking out.  She turned back to Leliana.  “Why do you want to join us?”

“The Maker told me to,” was Leliana’s response.

“The Maker’s on my side?”  Maeve grinned.  “Welcome aboard!”

“That soldier with the bottle must have cracked your head harder than I thought,” Morrigan muttered.

“Then you believe me?”  Leliana hadn’t been expecting that.

“Why not?”  Maeve shrugged.  “Fate seems to have been messing with me all of my life.  Maybe it’s been the Maker all along.  I have a few choice words for him, but at least He’s sent help.” 

“More crazy?” Alistair muttered.  “I thought we were all full up.”

“The Maker has a dark sense of humor,” Maeve assured him.  “She turned to Leliana.  Meet us back here in the morning.  I assume you have a bed to go back to.”

“I do,” Leliana assured them.  “I must also change out of this habit, it isn’t ideal for fighting, I assure you.

Maeve went back to the tavern keeper.  “Now about that room.  I believe a few might have been freed up.”

He looked at the dead bodies strewn throughout the front and side room of his tavern.  “They aren’t clean and I’m afraid Matilde will be busy trying to clean up this mess.  I’ll rent them to you as is,” he decided.  “Perhaps I can find some other paying customers among this lot.  We’re still out of food, though.  Maybe the soldiers had some rations in their packs.  It’s the best I can do.”

“We’ll take three rooms,” Maeve smiled.  She’d at least be getting a bed for the night.

 

 

Maeve walked into the room and found it snug, but comfortable.  Whoever had been in there before had barely touched anything.  There was a bed and bath, which was all she required for the night.  VanHowling jumped up on the foot of the bed and fell asleep immediately.  She started going through the soldier’s pack, as her dog snored.  She found several silver pieces, it seemed Loghain paid well.  Either that or his men were robbing people they encountered on the road and in villages, both might be true.  She also found plenty she could sell to a merchant as soon as she found one in the morning.  There was a spare uniform, but she doubted it would fit her.

A soft knock on her door distracted her.  “It’s open.”

Alistair stuck his head in.  “The soldier who’d been in my room apparently liked his creature comforts.  There are cheese, crackers, and several bottles of wine.  Do you want to come have dinner with me?”

“In your room?  It will be scandalous.”  She still followed him, realizing how much her life had changed.

They sat in comfort, eating and drinking on his bed for several minutes.  “Are we really adding the crazy nun to our party?” Alistair broke the silence.

“We need all the help we can get,” Maeve pointed out.  “Are you going to complain every time we bring someone onto the team?”

“If I had my way, it would be just you, me, and the dog,” Alistair bit into a piece of cheese.

“That does have an appeal,” Maeve agreed.  “It isn’t a good idea strategically, but does sound lovely.”  She took another sip of wine.  The soldier who’d occupied this room had had six bottles in his pack along with the crackers and cheese. 

“Do you really believe the Maker sent Leliana to us?” He took a long swig of the wine and then handed it to her.  “I have my doubts.”

Maeve drank.  “Either Fate or the Maker has been messing with me since I was born, so it would be about time He sent help.”  She drank again.

“What do you mean?”  He finished off the bottle and opened another one.

“I was born to the most powerful duke in Ferelden with the Mark on me,” she ate another cracker, with cheese on top, and followed it with more wine.  “That meant that I had one of two choices.  I would either grow up to be a piece of Ferelden’s version of the game and make an advantageous marriage or join the Crimson Wardens and fight the undead for the rest of my life.  I wanted neither.”

“Ferelden does not play the game like Orlais,” Alistair objected around the piece of cheese in his mouth.

Maeve settled back against the pillows and took yet another drink.  “No, the game isn’t as intense here as it is in Orlais… at least it didn’t used to be.  The fact that I’m now a widowed orphan belies that claim, though.”  She sipped the wine before letting him take it from her.

“Is that why you married Cailan?”  He drank a bit and then bit into another piece of cheese.

“My parents had promised me that I could marry for love,” she revealed.  “They loved each other very much and wanted that type of partnership for me.  I’d had many offers, but never fell in love.  Then Cailan came to court me and Duncan showed up looking for recruits.  My father… he…” she felt the tears begin to fall and took the wine from Alistair in an effort to chase back the tears.  “He still wouldn’t let me be swept away by the winds of destiny.  I think that’s why he insisted that I stay at the castle while he went to Ostagar.  He was helping me fight Fate.”

“You still ended up at Ostagar,” Alistair took the wine and drank more himself.

“That’s because…”  She didn’t want to talk about that yet.  “Fate wouldn’t loosen her hold.  Duncan conscripted me and Cailan offered me a way out.  I was again given only two choices.  I chose to marry the king rather than be forced into an order, one that would dictate the rest of my life to me while they demanded I fight the undead nightly.”

“Your life would still have been dictated to you as queen,” Alistair pointed out.

“I was raised for that sort of life, though,” Maeve realized she was getting a bit woozy and nestled closer to her companion.  “I might not have loved Cailan, but I did like him.  I might have grown to love him in time.  He was a good man.”

“So he was,” Alistair slipped an arm around her as he took another swig.  “You aren’t the only one Fate has picked on, you know.”

“Really?” She snuggled into his side. 

“I had two choices as well, the Templars or the Crimson Wardens.”  He grinned as he held her against him.  He liked the feel of her there.

“You mentioned that,” she remembered.  “You said you didn’t want to be a Templar, why were you in their academy?”

“I was sent there, against my will, when I was ten,” he revealed.  “I… well, let’s just say I wasn’t as lucky as you were when it came to parents.  I found myself with no choice for more than eight years.  I had the Mark, but no one was going to let me go off and join the Wardens until Duncan arrived.  I was trapped and had a future I didn’t want.  Duncan only offered me one alternative, but it felt like I was being rescued.  I took the better of my two choices.”

“So did I,” she murmured.  “I guess we both have been trapped by fate all of our lives and took what we felt was the better of two choices.  Loghain ruined that for me.”

“He ruined it for both of us,” he kissed the top of her head.  “Now it seems that Fate has messed with both of us again and we must deal the hand she had dealt.  It is all either of us can do.”

She closed her eyes.  “What are our choices before us now?  Are we trapped again?”

“We could runaway to Orlais and live in sin,” he suggested.  “At least until the vampiric horde and Vampire King catch up with us.  Damn you, undead minions of Evil!”  He shook the bottle and realized that it was nearly empty.  They had drunk two bottles.

She giggled.  “We’d be defying fate together.”  She paused, not opening her eyes.  “I think I might like that.”  She yawned and laid an arm across his stomach.

“Neither of us are the type to run away from those who need us,” he set the bottle aside and then set the cheese and crackers on the floor, not letting go of her.  “I guess we’re still trapped.  At least we’re in the same trap.  It’s better than being alone.  Right?” 

“We’ll save them,” she murmured, beginning to fall asleep.  “Then we’ll fight to make our own fate.”  She fell asleep.

He laid her down on the bed and blew out the candles in the candelabra set on the tableside.  “Good night, Freckles, seep well.”  As he fell asleep beside her, he wondered if she realized she’d said fate instead of fates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More thanks to my wonderful beta Idunasappl.


	26. Foolish Strategies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Barony meets and a haunting begins

The statues and gargoyles that were set in the main hall of Denerim Palace seemed to stare, balefully at Loghain as he stepped onto the catwalk overlooking where the bannorn had now gathered together.  The earls were also with the barons on the floor, those who had survived Ostagar that was.  Most only survived because they weren’t there, they’d either sent one of their children or they were the child who now mourned one of their parents.

            He reached out and squeezed Anora’s hand before addressing his subjects.  “Most of our forces were killed at Ostagar, thanks to Cailan’s foolish strategies.  We need more men to fight the undead and I expect you to supply these men.  We must rebuild what was lost at Ostagar and quickly.”

            “Cailan’s foolish strategy?”  A familiar voice asked. 

            Loghain looked for the speaker, but could not see him.  He glanced at Anora who looked at him with adoring eyes.  Then he continued.  “There are those who would take advantage of our weakened state if we let them.  We must defeat this invasion of the undead, but we must do so sensibly and without hesitation.”

            “I told you thirty years ago that a Blight was coming,” the voice came yet again.  “You didn’t believe me now and you don’t believe it when the evidence is right in front of your face.  I never realized what an idiot you are, Loghain.  I can’t believe that Rowan actually made the beast with two backs with you.  What was she thinking?”

            Now Loghain looked frantically over the crowd.  Who knew about the brush he had had with Queen Rowan before she married Maric?  That was far in the past and the pair had been discreet, more discreet than Maric and his little elven bard he was tupping at the time.  He still couldn’t find the culprit, but that voice was very familiar.

            “Loghain, I must speak,” Baron Teagan Guerrin stepped forward.  Loghain raised his arm, indicating he would allow it.  Teagan gave a slight bow.  “You have declared yourself Queen Anora’s regent and claimed that we must unite under your banner for our own good.  But what of the army lost at Ostagar?  Your withdraw was most fortuitous.”

            The crowd gasped at the accusation.

            “He says fortuitous, I say treasonous,” the voice came yet again, causing Loghain to clutch the hilt of his sword.  “It’s almost something an _Orlesian_ would do.”

            “Everything I have done has been to secure Ferelden’s independence,” Loghain ignored the loud snort behind him.  “I have not shirked my duty to the throne and neither will any of you!”

            “You got the king killed, I’d say that is shirking your duty,” Loghain realized the voice was coming from behind him.

            “The baronies will not bow to you simply because you demand it,” Teagan warned.

            Loghain could not believe the little upstart was threatening him.  “Understand this, I will brook no threat to the nation from _you_ or anyone,” Loghain waved a hand over the crowd.  Beside him, Anora smiled and nodded.

            “Oh, look, you have approval from my son’s _ex-_ wife,” the voice now seemed to be beside him now.  “That’s right _ex_.  Blood is on your hands Loghain and your beloved daughter sits on a throne of lies.”  Loghain marched out, his men following.

 

 

            Anora stayed standing on the catwalk after her father’s departure.  She could feel the disapproving looks of the barony, but she wouldn’t let them see how their words to her father hurt her.  She just had to know if any word of the hateful documents she’d been forced to sign by her husband had made it out of Ostagar.  Was her throne safe?  “Baron Teagon,” she called to the one baron she knew threatened her most.  “Please!”

            He turned and looked up to her as the other nobles filed out.  “Your Majesty, your father risks civil war.  If Eamon were here…”  He let the implications lie between them.

            “Baron Teagan,” she batted her eyelashes at him, but then let a serious expression settle across her face.  “My father is doing what is best.”

            “Did he also do what was best for your husband, Your Majesty?”  Teagan turned away and continued walking out the hall.

            Anora closed her eyes for a moment.  So there was to be civil war, but the barons did not suspect the truth about what had happened between her and Cailan.  She twisted on her heel and went back into the private wing of the palace.

 

            Anora sat at her father’s bedside, in her lacy white nightgown, going over reports with him.  “The barons are going to be trouble,” she advised.  “They won’t go along with us easily.  At least they aren’t trying to boot me off the throne.”

            “They have no reason to,” he patted her leg affectionately.  “There is no one left alive that knows of Cailan’s foolishness.  As far as they know, his only mistake was in trusting the Crimson Wardens.”

            “There are those who believe you abandoned him in Ostagar for your own gain,” Anora warned.  “I have also heard rumors that a Crimson Warden or two might have survived the battle.”

            “They’ll easily be dealt with,” he assured her.

            “Did you… did you find out who he left me for,” she hadn’t gotten the courage to ask her father that yet.

            “Don’t worry about that,” he soothed.  “It’s over now.”

            “So there was another woman,” she nodded and looked down at the reports.

            “Not one who is your match,” he kissed her affectionately on the cheek.  “Now it’s been a hard day for both of us, go get some sleep.  We’ll learn more after the earls and barons return home.  I already have soldiers looking for any possible Crimson Warden survivors.  I’ll take care of everything, love.”

            She nodded and left.

            Loghain watched his daughter’s back, fondly.  He then blew out his candles and lay down in his bed.  A hard day indeed.  He’d been hearing things earlier, that’s what he convinced himself of.  He hadn’t been hearing Maric’s voice in the hall.  He was just reacting to the stress he was under.

            “You know which Crimson Warden survived,” Maric sat down on the edge of Loghain’s bed.  “You’ve already killed one of my sons and now you’re trying to kill the other.  Were you behind my ‘accident’ as well?  Regicide is obviously not beneath you.”

            “Guards!”  Loghain shouted.

            “Oh, yeah, that’s really going to help,” the king’s ghost folded his arms.  “We’ll just wait for them together, shall we?”

            Soldiers filled the room, the front two carried torches.  “What is it, My Lord?”

            “There’s an intruder!”  He pointed to where Maric was now laughing.

            “Ooo, the loyal Ferelden soldiers are going to come after me, the ghost of their favorite king,” Maric waved his hands in faux fear.  “Oh, no.  I’m so afraid of those who blindly follow Loghain the Liar.  Oh, no!  What are they going to do, make me more dead?”

            “There’s no one there, sir,” one of the soldiers assured him.  “They must have escaped.  We’ll search the palace for you.”

            Maric waited until the men had left.  “So, you’ve killed Cailan and are now after Alistair.  That still won’t secure the throne for you.  What part do you have to do with what is happening with the Couslands and Guerrins. They were a threat, weren’t they?  It must be sad to realize that your one bright victory wasn’t enough to get all of Ferelden to worship you.”

            Loghain covered his head with his blanket.  He tried to ignore Maric until he fell asleep.

 

 

            Loghain found himself wandering around a cathedral with high arches and stained glass mirrors.  Gargoyles glared down at him as he passed by.  He could swear that some of them growled at him.  They were supposed to guard holy places from evil, were they warning him of danger or trying to scare him away?

            “They’re not happy to see you,” Rowan Guerrin-Theirin sat on an altar in the middle of the room.  She wore a red and black brocade gown, the material was red and the print tiny black climbing roses.  It was off her shoulders a little, showing them off and had black lace along the neck and sleeves.  There were red ribbons running through her chestnut brown curls, which still framed her face beautifully.

            Loghain felt his heartbeat begin to increase.  He hadn’t loved any woman as much as he did her, not until the day he’d held his daughter in his arms.  He found that he could still just look at her and it made things better.  Maker, he missed her.  “Are you happy to see me?”

            “You?”  She shook her head and gave a little, lady like, snort.  “No.”

            “Rowan…”  He felt his heart stop for a moment.  This was worse than when she left him to go back to Maric after she realized the part he’d played in Katriel’s death.  That had hurt less as it was the reason he’d maneuvered Maric into killing Katriel.  He wanted Rowan to be queen and Maric was trying to find a way to marry his elven lover, a lover who was a Bard.  Rowan had been angry and broke with him, going to Maric to comfort his grief. 

            “You think I’d be all right with what you’ve done?”  She stood and strolled to him.  Her gait was still that of a rebel leader who’d helped to free her country from their Orlesian oppressors.

            “You have to understand, my love…”  He began.

            “Understand?”  She jabbed a finger into her chest.  “You killed my son!”

            “I didn’t kill him,” he protested.  “Not exactly.”

            “You abandoned him at Ostagar.  You abandoned him to the mercies of the undead,” she jabbed his chest twice more to emphasize her point.  “That was my baby you left to die when you ordered your soldiers to flee.  The beacon had been lit and there was a plan in place.  You can lie to your men about what was really happening, but not to me.  I am here to demand answers.”

            “Where is here?” He looked around.

“It’s a cathedral in Gwaren.  I used to come here to think during the revolution,” she smiled at the gargoyles.  “It was a ruin then, but the Fade remembers.”

“I’ve never been there,” he admitted.

“Well, you never were a good duke,” she commented.  “It wasn’t just because you were born a peasant, either.  You didn’t have the heart.”

“Are you and Maric tag teaming me?”  Loghain couldn’t believe his sweet Rowan was insulting him.  She was never the type to in life, she had been more timid in her personal life; for all of her ability to fight and command.

“Maric’s been visiting you?”  She smiled.  “How is he?”

“Aren’t you spending your afterlife together?”  They had been married and he thought that was where she was, even if a part of him had always hoped she’d wait for him to join her.  It seemed she now had a reason not to wait any longer.

“He’s with Katriel,” she shrugged.  “Do you know that when he ended up in the Fade, when he’d gone to help the Crimson Wardens, it was Katriel who went to him?  He would have stayed in the Fade with her, forever, if it weren’t for Fiona.”  She saw Loghain wince.  “Yes, I know about Fiona, even if I had been dead before they ever met.  You’re now trying to kill her son, aren’t you, along with Bryce and Eleanor’s daughter?”

“Um…” Loghain didn’t know how she knew so much.

“Are you just anxious to come and join me on this side of the veil?”  She wondered.  “Because if that was the case, might I remind you that you are responsible for my son’s death?”

“You don’t think I can win?”  He slumped against a wall, only to have a gargoyle growl at him and swoop down.

“There is a Blight on the land of Ferelden, _my home_!”  She gathered up an edge of her skirt as she glided back to the altar and sat back down, her back straight and her chin lifted.  “There is a Vampire King out there looking to destroy my country and, he hopes, find his mate so he can bring a new breed of god upon the land.  It won’t be a breed that is friendly to the present races of Ferelden.”

“This is no Blight,” he insisted.

“Loghain,” her voice was sharp and commanding.  “I know Maric told you that a Blight would come.  He was shown by Flemeth herself.  He told me, as well.  Yet you doubt him.  Why?  Hubris?  You knew there were three more Old Gods hidden somewhere in the Deep Roads.  I never thought you were stupid.”

“If it is a Blight, I can handle it,” he insisted.

Rowan crossed her legs.  “I’ve seen you naked, you don’t bear the Mark.  You aren’t one of the Chosen Ones.  You need a Crimson Warden to end a Blight, and you’re no Crimson Warden.”

“That’s what the Wardens want you to believe,” he insisted.

. “For the sake of argument, let’s just say that I have information you don’t. You’re wrong about the Crimson Wardens. You do need one.” She looked at Loghain shaking his head, and she shrugged. “Fine, don’t believe me. You’ll be joining me here soon enough. Say hello to Maric for me when you see him again.”  Rowan uncrossed her legs and stood, waving her arm toward the door. “The gargoyles will see you out.”

 “What do you mean…?”  Two of the gargoyles grabbed Loghain and flew towards the doors out, as they passed him he jerked awake.

“Oh, good, you’re awake,” Maric was sitting at the edge of his bed, playing solitaire.  “So when are you going to tell the people of Ferelden the truth?”

Loghain groaned and rolled over, pulling a pillow over his head.


	27. Lothering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maeve's team gets information and shops

Maeve felt herself being gently shaken awake.  She grabbed her pillow to hit whoever was trying to get her up and then felt a kiss at the end of her nose.  What?  Who?  Where was she?  She slowly opened her eyes to see Alistair’s face and smiled.  Then she sat up gasping.  “Where?”

“We fell asleep during our little dinner,” he explained.  “I wanted to give you time to sneak back to your room for a bath and maybe a change of clothes.”

“I don’t have a change of clothes,” she mumbled as she slowly sat up.  She supposed she should rush to her room before her reputation was ruined.  Then she remembered that she was a widow and allowed more… eccentricities. 

“All I have is one of Loghain’s uniform’s.  I’d rather not wear anything that associates me with that man,” Alistair pointed out.  “Do we have enough money for clothes?”

Maeve thought for a second as she pulled on her boots, otherwise she’d still been completely dressed.  “The bandits had quite a bit of coin on them, as did Loghain’s soldiers.  At least the one whose room I took.”

“My guy wasn’t that bad off, either,” Alistair admitted.  “Despite the fact that he obviously loved his creature comforts.”

“We should make a bit selling things to the merchants as well,” she calculated.  “We have enough to cover clothes and other supplies.”

“Good, I’ll see you for breakfast,” he smiled at her.

She smiled back.  She should be more embarrassed than she was.  This had only been the second time she’d even slept in the same bed as a man.  Alistair had proven to be just as much of a gentleman as Cailan was, though.  She almost wished he had made a move.

 

 

After her bath, Maeve made her way down to the tavern’s main room.  VanHowling was back at her side.  Alistair was sitting at a table by the fireplace, a mug in his hand.  Morrigan was sitting on the opposite side of the room, glaring at anyone who tried to sit near her.  They were just missing Leliana.

“I don’t suppose you received a shipment of food in this morning?” She yawned at the tavern keeper.  “Even some porridge?”

“What I got was more refugees,” he grumbled.  “I do have a possible job for you, though?  I don’t suppose you’d like to make a little coin on the side.  You’re a noble lady and I saw you fight as a rogue, does that mean you know something about poisons?”

“I do,” she confirmed.

As Maeve and the tavern keeper discussed the job, Leliana walked in.  She had shed her nun’s habit and now wore an ivory, three fourths sleeve ruffled blouse under a black bodice that crisscrossed strange metal grommets in the front.  There was a ruffled ivory skirt with plenty of volume that ended halfway between her knees and ankles with a brown overskirt with two ruffled swags in the back.  Her boots were knee length brown leather.  She smiled at Alistair as she walked to him.  “Hello, handsome.”

“Leliana,” he nodded at her.  “Interesting clothes.”

“Remind me to introduce you two to my seamstress today.  She was all the rage in Lothering before the undead decided to sweep across our nation.  She calls her style Living in a Gothic Travesty or the Anti-Orlesian style.  She reminds her clients that Ferelden is a practical people who must either be ready to fight or should just learn to speak Orlesian.”

Alistair found something amusing about someone with a light Orlesian accent saying ‘should just learn to speak Orlesian’.  “So you decided to do both.”

Leliana laughed and stole his tankard, taking a drink.  Then she frowned.  “This is just water.”

“It’s morning,” he countered.  He wasn’t going to mention his slight hangover from the night before and wondered how Maeve was feeling.  She’d seemed cheerful enough earlier.  He looked over at her now and found her frowning at him.  Or was it Leliana she was frowning at? 

VanHowling abandoned his mistress and came to sit by Alistair, jumping in the seat beside him and thumping his tale before giving Leliana a pointed look.

“What did I do?” She objected.

A few minutes later, Maeve went to talk to Morrigan and then the pair joined Alistair’s table.  “The tavern keeper had three bottles of wine left in store, but still no food,” she didn’t add that she’d gone ahead and purchased the three bottles of wine.  Perhaps if she got Alistair drunk enough, he’d tell her who had sent him off to the Templar University.

“What are our plans when we leave?” Morrigan demanded to know.

“Shouldn’t we worry about our plans before we leave first?” Maeve objected.

“We talked about that with Flemeth,” Alistair reminded her.

“You talked to her, I… sort of… was thinking about something else,” Maeve admitted.

Morrigan moaned.  “This is our choice for leaders?  We have Lady Doesn’t Give a Care and Lord Moron.  If anyone wanted more proof that there is no Maker, here it is.”

“There is a Maker,” Leliana objected.  “The five of us being here together proves that.”

“You two were going on about those treaties, right?” Maeve gave Alistair a half smile.

He was the one frowning now.  “Yes.  We also discussed going to Redcliffe.  Earl Eamon’s men weren’t at Ostagar.  He never arrived, although Cailan had been waiting anxiously for him.”

“He is Cailan’s uncle,” Maeve confirmed.  “His defying an order of the king is not in character.  Cailan mentioned that he was worried about him, but didn’t want to spare any man power to see if something had gone wrong in Redcliffe.”

“That means he still has all of his men,” Alistair continued.

“That is if nothing happened,” Maeve qualified.  She had a horrible thought.  “I should have seen it then.  My father and Earl Eamon were the biggest contenders for the throne if something happened to Cailan.  Duke Loghain would have a hard time seizing it with either of them in the way.”

“Sometimes I’m a moron!” Alistair exclaimed.

“Sometimes?” Morrigan raised an eyebrow.

“We need to get to Redcliffe and check on him,” Alistair insisted.

“I agree,” Maeve conceded.  “There is the chance that the road between here and Redcliffe is being watched.  It is the largest city to the west of here, especially if we keep to the road that follows Lake Calenhad.  Loghain isn’t an idiot, he would realize we’d put two and two together and try to get to Eamon before he can.  If he hasn’t already.  What is your hometown?  Perhaps we should go there first.”

“I was born in Redcliffe,” Alistair admitted.

“Loghain will definitely be watching for you,” Morrigan interjected.

“We’ll go the long way around,” Maeve decided.  If we take a north route along the lake, we could stop by the Mage Collective in Kinloch Hold and present them with the treaty.  We could also travel a bit further west after we pass the tip of the lake and visit Orzammar.  Then we can skirt between the lake and the Frostback Mountains to reach Redcliffe.”

“That will give Loghain a better chance to realize we’re alive and try to stop us,” Alistair disagreed.

“He is already distributing pictures of us to his soldiers,” Maeve reminded him.  “I think he suspects that we’re alive.  You may be right, though.  Let’s make sure we find a map of Thedas while looking for supplies.  We can discuss this further tonight.”

“Very well,” he agreed.  “Let’s go find a merchant.”

 

 

The merchant they found was near the chantry and he was having a heated discussion with a Chantry Sister as they approached.  It seemed she was berating him for his unscrupulous business prices.  He was buying merchandise at a low amount and reselling it for greater than he would have gotten if not for the Blight.

Maeve settled the matter between the pair, making them compromise, while Morrigan loudly wondered why she was solving everyone else’s problems.  Maeve then began haggling with the merchant herself.  He tried lowballing them for the goods they were selling, until Morrigan threated to turn him into a toad and make him her breakfast.  After that his prices became more fare.  He also made sure to sell them what food he had, wanting to make sure Morrigan wasn’t hungry anymore.

By some miracle, the merchant did have a map of Thedas.  Alistair and Maeve began marking it up with the quill and ink that the merchant also had almost immediately. 

They then turned to the chantry.  It had been an abbey at one point and had stood for hundreds of years.  Gargoyles stood on the precipice, guarding those inside.  There were arched windows at the sides, but none in the front or back.

In front of the building was the Chantry board.  It appeared that the town was suffering from bandits and bears.  “Isn’t that what the Templars are for?”  Morrigan pointed out.

“They’re paying for others to take care of this,” Alistair jabbed a finger at the sign.  “We could use that money.  Your mother rescued us, but didn’t rescue our belongings.”

“She could have left you behind, too,” Morrigan wished she had.

“Sister Leliana!”  One of the Templars greeted her at the door.

“What are you doing in the chantry today, Inspector Alex?”  Leliana wondered.

“The reverend mother asked for our help,” he explained.  “There are just too many refugees.  That many people in a closed space means trouble.  We had one family try to enter last night with a son who had started to turn.  They became unruly when he couldn’t enter.  The gargoyles kept him out, he couldn’t make it pass the threshold.  They claimed that someone had bewitched the building to keep them out, like mages don’t have better things to do with their time.”

“’Twould be a fine practical joke,” Morrigan mused.

“Maybe a witch would do it, mages have more class,” Alistair insisted.

“My new friends need supplies,” Leliana explained.  “They may have to camp and would like to be sure that they are well protected from the Children of the Night.  They managed to get rooms at Dane’s Refuge, so they won’t add to the commotion inside.”

“Anything for you, sister,” he smiled.  “I like your outfit better than your normal habit.”

“Thank you, kind sir,” she gave him a flirtatious smile and then led the others inside.

There first stop was not the reverend mother, but the Templar Captain.  Maeve delivered the note they’d found on the dead Templar the day before.

“I was afraid of this,” the Inspector sighed as he read the note.  “I’ll let his family know.  I need to take care of those highwaymen, but my men and women are all tied up taking care of the refugees that continued to pour into the city.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Maeve assured him.  “I killed them when they tried to rob me.”

“Really?” The Templar Captain was surprised. 

“I saw the fight myself, captain,” another Templar approached.  “The highwayman attacked her group when they wouldn’t give them their money.  The fight was over before I could get to them to help.  You should see this lady wield her swords, it is a beautiful dance indeed.”

“I had a bounty on their heads,” the captain grinned.  “Lieutenant, see that this woman gets paid.”

The lieutenant went to fetch the reward money while Maeve and the captain discussed what paths outside of the city were safest.  He revealed that most of the refugees were heading to Denerim, but she didn’t want to go there yet.  West Hills was reporting an increase in undead activity, as were several areas south of Edgehall.

 

 

While Maeve discussed the situation in Thedas with the Templar Captain, Alistair saw someone he didn’t expect to.  “Hubert,” he quickly approached a man sitting on one of the pews, with a book laid out in front of him.  “What are you doing here?”

“Alistair?”  The old scholar stood and embraced the Crimson Warden.  “I wish I could tell you that I was here to enjoy the offerings of a quaint town, but I was sent by Countess Isolde.”

“Is something wrong in Redcliffe?”  He’d already suspected that there was trouble.  After all, the soldiers guarding the old scholar should have been at Ostagar.

“Earl Eamon is sick,” Hubert explained.  “He’s very ill and the countess believes that the only way to heal him are with the Blood and Ashes of Andraste.  The legends do say they have miraculous healing properties.”

“If they do exist, no one knows where they are,” Alistair objected.

“Exactly,” Hubert lifted the book.  “That’s why I’m here trying to find clues as to where they could be.  The countess is sure they exist.”

“Redcliffe hasn’t been attacked by any unexpected enemy?”  _Like Loghain_ , Alistair added silently.

“Not when I left, it hadn’t,” Hubert assured him.

“I guess I was worried for nothing,” Alistair sat down beside him.

“Well, Eamon is very ill,” Hubert reminded him.  “You might want to go visit him… in case he doesn’t get better.”

“Who doesn’t get better?” Maeve sat down on the other side of Alistair.

“Earl Eamon Guerrin is ill,” Hubert explained.  “It’s bad, so bad that Countess Isolde is looking for any means to heal him.”

“Hmm… how convenient for certain people,” she mumbled.  “Alistair, I’m going to go talk to the reverend mother, stay here and talk to your friend longer if you’d like.”

“No, I’ll come with you,” Alistair turned to Hubert.  “Don’t stay here too long.”

“I know about the vampiric horde moving this way,” Hubert assured him.  “Don’t worry; I’ll get these soldiers back to Redcliffe soon.

 

 

The reverend mother happily sold the goods Maeve needed to her.  She even gave her a discount when she realized that Leliana had joined the group.  Maeve gathered up holy water, Andraste’s Grace, and Crystal Grace.  She also took seeds and blessed soil to grow more, although she did plan to gather more in the wild.

“You should come with us, Your Grace,” Leliana insisted.

“No, my dear,” the Reverend Mother waved off her concerns.  “I shall stay here and defend those who remain.  My faith will protect me.”

“’Tis more likely, you’ll find your holy protections ripped off of you and your blood shall end up in the belly of one of the undead,” Morrigan countered.

“Then that is what the Maker wishes,” the Reverend Mother shrugged.  She turned to Leliana.  “You will be taking your friend there to Wither’s Wears won’t you?”

Leliana looked over at Morrigan.  “Of course I will.  It will be fun.”


	28. Victorian Vampire-Hunting Vestments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maeve and Alistair continue to get supplies, including another party member.

Maeve was not sure what to think when she entered Wither’s Wears.  The proprietor, Erie Withers was a buxom blonde whose hair was up in ponytails she wore a black leather bodice with a very light, flowing chemise and a black tiered skirt that only reached to her knee caps.  She was only kept from being outrageously scandalous by a pair of soft black leather boots.  Beside her was a man in soft brown leather trousers and a billowy white shirt.  “Hello,” she introduced herself.  “I am Erie Withers and this is my associate, the tailor known as Blaine Monaghan.”

“What is his real name?” Alistair wondered.

“It’s Blaine Monaghan,” the tailor answered.

“Oh,” Alistair raised an eyebrow at Maeve, who shrugged in response.

“Leliana tells me that you need clothes and you need them quickly,” Erie continued.  “What is your intent?  Do you plan to flee the vampiric horde coming, become a vampire’s dinner, beg the undead to make you one of their own, or to fight?”

“I didn’t know clothes were so complicated,” Alistair commented.

“You have clothes specifically designed for those who plan to let themselves be killed?”  Maeve was having a problem getting her head around the concept.

“Oh, yes,” Erie took them to a mannequin where a soft gold gown with pink floral accents was on display.  It had an evening flavor to it, especially the neckline which was slightly off the shoulder and left the neck itself completely displayed.  The sleeves were short and the flowers ran along the neckline and overskirt, which was raised on one side to display a soft pink underskirt.   There was also a pink bow at the top of the raise.  There were at least two petticoats underneath it.  “Notice that the neck, wrists and underside of the elbow are easily accessible to make things easier for the monster that will be dispensing of you.  It also helps ensure that you have a pretty corpse when you are found the next morning.  I had Empress Celene in mind when I designed it.”

“Of course,” Maeve admitted that she approved of the inspiration if one were in mind to design for those who would rather lie down and be a victim than fight.  She knew better, though, than to believe that Celene’s over the top style choices were an indication of giving up. From all reports, the Empress just tended to let others do her fighting for her.

“This is what I have ready for those fleeing the vampiric horde,” Erie pointed out another outfit.  Maeve liked that one better.  It was a riding habit in green and white.  The blouse was white and seemed to have a loose fit.  If one had to fight, they could easily shed the jacket and have easy movement of the arms.  The jacket was a mint green with black and white trim along the lapels, neck, and sleeve.  It only buttoned at the top and left the rest of the blouse revealed.  The neckline offered sufficient coverage as well.  The skirt was a matching green and there was a black belt.  Beside it was a charming darker green riding hat with a mint green ban around it.  Maeve found it charming.  “This will allow you a comfortable ride and still allow you to fight if you meet up with an unexpected predator.”

“It’s pretty,” Maeve admitted.

“Now if you plan to fight, as Leliana tells me you do, you will want something like this,” Erie led her to two more outfits.  The first one was unlike anything she’d seen before.  It was a cooper button up blouse with a high neckline, with matching lace, and loose fitting sleeves, which would give her room to fight.  The vest that covered it was unique.  It was a copper on copper brocade that still allowed ease of movement and had a hood.  The skirt matched the vest.  It was lifted in front, so that her knees would be exposed and cascaded down the back to what would be considered a proper length.  “You would wear knee high boots with this of course, we don’t want to show those ankles after all, however this allows for kicks below the belt for the well trained rogue.”

Maeve had never worn something so scandalous, but she loved the idea of the ease of movements in fighting.  After all, Ferelden prided itself on its practicality of fashion.  The men and women were supposed to be able to fight at any moment.

The other outfit also had a loose blouse, this blouse was a soft grey and a red vest that allowed for ease of movement.  The black skirt was long, but it was also long, but it had a long slit on either side.  “This doesn’t give as much movement of the leg, but will still allow for easy maneuverability,” Erie explained.

“I say we get the victim dress and put Alistair in it,” Morrigan declared.

“You just wish you were as pretty as I am,” Alistair sneered at the witch.

“The soft gold would bring out the color of your eyes,” Maeve agreed.    
She considered the clothing for a moment.  I will go for fighting outfits in both styles as well as the riding habit.  I love the mint green, let’s keep that.”

“I also suggest we keep with the copper,” the seamstress assessed Maeve.  “It will look beautiful with your coloring.”  She turned to Morrigan.  “And for you miss?  Were you able to bring changes of clothing when you fled Ostagar?”

“I did not flee,” Morrigan sniffed.  “Nor do I need the likes of you to dress me.”

“You know we came from Ostagar?” Maeve looked to Leliana.

“She warned me as I was sure to notice your Mark,” Erie explained.

“Oh, come on, Morrigan,” Leliana cajoled.  “At least one new outfit.  Something in velvet.  We could make it a burgundy velvet; you would look wonderful in it.  It would have to accentuate that lovely chest of yours.”

“Stop looking at my chest!”  Morrigan insisted.

“I’m sure you will like something besides that uniform, good sir,” Blaine approached Alistair.  “With the rumors that vicious Loghain is spreading about your people, I expect you’d like to burn it once we get you into something more fashionable.”

“Make sure you find him something in that soft gold!”  Maeve called out as Blaine took Alistair aside.  “It really would bring out his lovely eyes.”

“She likes your eyes,” Blaine looked back at Maeve.  “Very well done, sir.”

 

 

Once they were done purchasing clothes and other supplies for their fight against the undead, and had arranged for it all to be delivered to their rooms in Dane’s Refuge, Maeve and Alistair headed outside of Lothering to take care of a few of the villagers problems, although there was little they could do about the approaching horde.

They found an empty cage on the outskirts of town.  The bars had been bent back and there was blood on some of them.  “What happened here?” Alistair wondered.  “Did the town try to leave a vampire in there to roast under the sun?”

“It was a Qunari,” Leliana explained.  “The reverend mother had him left in there yesterday.  She thought he might have his blood drained over night by the undead, but that would keep the creatures from trying to get into the village.”

“Because he was a Qunari?”  Maeve couldn’t believe anyone would be so racist.

“No, because he slaughtered an entire family, even the young children,” Leliana explained.  “He was a homicidal maniac.”

“’Twould have been kinder to just sentence and kill him,” Morrigan declared.

“There’s no body,” Alistair pointed out.  “They could have turned him instead, which means the town now has another undead monster coming their way.”

Leliana coughed.  “Yes, well, the reverend mother can’t think of everything, now can she?”

“I don’t know,” Maeve mused later, as they were fighting one of the groups of bandits.  “I still feel like we might have just lost a potential ally.”

“He was a large, vicious killer, Maeve,” Alistair reminded her.  “We don’t need allies like that.”

“If you did have your choice in potential allies what would you like?” Maeve pressed as they continued their search for the last reported group of bandits that had been plaguing the villagers. 

“They would be a skilled fighter,” Alistair considered.  “They would bare the Mark and be willing to go through the Joining, if we ever find the ingredients needed for it again.  I suppose they would all be in the Crimson Warden base in Denerim.  Loghain’s probably seized it, though.  They would have a great sense of humor and would fight the undead, because it is their Calling.  They would also always stand for what is right.”

“So no one in this group,” she saw the last group of bandits.  They were resting near a lake, laughing, and counting the loot they had stolen.

“Look at that necklace,” Morrigan pointed to a diamond necklace one of the men was holding up against the sun.  “’Tis a pretty thing indeed.”

“You can have it after we kill them,” Maeve promised, bringing out her swords.

“Done,” Morrigan aimed a freezing blast at the man.

“I see where your priorities lie,” Leliana shot another of the bandits.  “We are killing them because they are bad men, not so we can steal the things they’ve already stolen?”

“Why can’t we do both?” Maeve wondered as she came out from the shadows behind one of the other bandits and ran him through.

“Leliana is right,” Alistair protested as he sliced at yet another bandit.  “If they weren’t killing innocent people, we would leave them alone.”

“You are no fun Alistair,” Morrigan threw a fireball.

Maeve listened to Alistair and Morrigan continue to fight as they finished off the last of the bandits and then went through their belongings, taking their supplies and loot to either use or resell.  They had several bottles of healing potion and a few ingredients she could use to make poisons.  Her mother had taught her the basics and a few fun coatings that she could use on her sword.  She hadn’t done either in years, though.  She had also never made a healing potion.  The type of ally they needed was a healer.  “Morrigan, can you make healing potions?”

“Only the basics,” Morrigan paused from her latest argument with Alistair.  “We’ll need to begin collecting elfroot, when we find it, and potion bottles.”

“I have a few already,” Maeve admitted.  “I’ll keep an eye out for more, though…”  She stopped as she saw three great bears in their path.  Two of them were looking at her.  The third was in the middle of a fight with a dwarf who was swinging a large axe.

Morrigan turned herself into a giant spider and launched herself at one of the bears, as Maeve blended into the shadows to maneuver behind the other one.  She had no desire to attack the thing from the front.  VanHowling took its flanks.

“That is… she’s a big spider?”  Leliana aimed her bow between the eyes of the bear Morrigan was fighting.

“Among other things,” Alistair commented as he hit the bear Maeve had picked with his shield.

“That is so neat,” the dwarf smiled at Morrigan.  “I’ve never met a mage before.”  The bear he had been fighting lay dead and he had joined Maeve and Alistair in fighting there’s.  He didn’t want to chance hitting the mage turned spider with his great axe.  “Can they all do that?”

“She’s the first one I’ve seen,” Maeve answered, as the Sword of Faith managed to sink into the bear’s heart.

“I am special,” Morrigan declared, after turning back to human form.  The bear lay dead behind her.

“That you are,” the dwarf agreed, ignoring the little, disagreeing sound that Leliana made.  “Now, if you folks could just point me towards the last remaining Crimson Wardens in Ferelden, I’ll be on my way.”

“You’re looking for the Crimson Wardens?” Maeve cleaned off her swords.  “I don’t believe there are Crimson Wardens left in Ferelden.”

“There has to be,” the dwarf gripped his axe hilt tighter.  “If you haven’t noticed, we’re having a bloody Blight.  No Crimson Wardens means we’re all going to die.  Just point me towards their Joining ritual materials and I’ll make myself one.  Then I’ll kill the blooming Vampire King personally.”

“Alistair and Maeve are Wardens,” Leliana assured him.

“How many times do I have to tell you, I’m _not_ a Crimson Warden?”  Maeve was practically shouting.

“I thought you were lying yesterday,” Leliana admitted.

“She wasn’t,” Alistair assured her.  “Maeve never went through the Joining.”

“Nope,” Maeve agreed.  “I got married instead.”

“You’re married?”  This surprised Leliana even more.  She thought Maeve was trying to get her to back off from Alistair.

“That’s too bad,” the dwarf grunted.

“I’m a widow, actually,” Maeve confessed.

“Oh, sorry,” Leliana blanched.

“Good,” the dwarf nodded.  “I mean… not good for you, but good for the men of Thedas.”  He didn’t notice the warning look Alistair was already shooting him.

“Well, Alistair,” Leliana indicated the man in question.  “Is a Crimson Warden.”

“Then why is he wearing one of the uniforms of Duke Loghain?” The dwarf wondered.  “He put a bounty on the Crimson Wardens’ heads.  Then again, that makes it a good disguise.  Never mind.  I’m Balder Aeducan: Exiled Prince of Orzammar.  I’ve come to join you.”

“I can’t put anyone through the Joining right now,” Alistair protested.  “We’d need to get some Orlesian Wardens here to do that.”

“Isn’t he everything you just said you wanted, though,” Maeve pointed out.  “I bet he even has a sense of humor, as much of a sense of humor as any exile has.”  She turned to Balder.  “How did you get exiled?  You didn’t slaughter a family of farmers, did you?”

“No, I was framed for the murder of my own brother,” he explained.

“You killed your brother?” Morrigan laughed.

“No, my other brother did,” Balder explained.

“I thought your brother was dead,” Alistair said.

“Not that brother, the other one,” Balder replied.

“How many brothers do you have?” Maeve asked.

“Two… Well one now. The other one is dead,” Balder answered.

“Welcome to the group,” Leliana smiled at him.  “We’re just taking care of a few problems outside of Lothering, but you’re welcome to join us.  I’m sure Alistair will let you share his room in the tavern tonight.  We’re going to fight the vampiric horde and end this Blight and I believe you’ll be a wonderful addition to our group, especially if you bear the Mark.”

“Who told Leliana she could let people into our group,” Alistair protested.  “You just let her join us yesterday.”

“I don’t know,” Maeve didn’t like it either.  “He is a Chosen One, at least.  We probably need him.  Besides, he’s more of what you wanted than Morrigan or Leliana are.”  She took the lead as they traveled further out from Lothering.

Alistair watched her back, contemplatively.  Perhaps she was right; maybe he did want it to just be the two of them.  Well, the two of them and the dog.  Maybe… his thoughts were cut off as a trio of giant spiders lumbered out at them.  As they fought the creatures, he did have to grudgingly admit that Balder was an excellent warrior.

Maeve filled six bottles with toxins from the giant spiders as the rest of their companions spoke cheerfully.  Even VanHowling seemed fond of their new companion.  She looked at Alistair who was still pouting.  He did have an adorable pout, even if she was finding it annoying lately.  She was also a bit sorry they wouldn’t be having another impromptu drunken picnic in his room that night.  They would need to leave early the next morning, anyway.


	29. Mist and Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Howe is finding ruling over Highever is harder than he thought.

Duke Rendon Howe was finding that ruling over Highever was not as easy as Bryce Cousland had made it look.  He had planned to use the treasure of Castle Cousland to pay for the extra soldiers he’d hired on when Loghain had approached him with his plan.  Together, they would both rise above the fortunes of their birth.  Yet there was some curse on the door of the treasury room.  Anyone who tried to get in without a key or Cousland blood met with horrible fates.  One had been burned, another froze, one mysteriously drowned in the middle of the night, while yet another had been found in pieces around the castle.

He had heard that the Couslands had valuable items hidden around their home and was sure that there were secret passages out of the building.  Too many people were unaccounted for when his men were done conquering the place.  He had yet to find a single one of them.

His only recourse was to raise the taxes on the people of Highever.  That’s when things got worse.  First, several citizens seemed to think they got tax breaks.  Then those taxes were stolen.   His men reported that the money seemed to be going right back to the people.  The taxes were being taken by a group led by a hooded figure in a blue cloak with a white mask.  He used a recurve bow and his arrows had white and blue fletching.  Some of the arrows even had a laurel painted on them.  The people were calling him the Blue Mist, because of the arrows and his ability to just disappear into the mists around Highever.  Howe had put a bounty of a thousand gold pieces on the highwayman’s head, with a hundred each for his men.  However, the people of Highever were not only not clamoring to turn the miscreants in, they were protecting them.

Rendon had sent to Amaranthine for funds to cover what he needed in Highever.  That money was intercepted on the road and was gone.  He had then decided to have it sent by ship, as both Amaranthine and Highever were coastal cities.  Pirates took the silver bars he was having delivered and sank his ship.  One disturbing report said the ship that had sunk his was the _Mistral_ , the ship of the notorious Seawolf.  He was sure that the Seawolf was dead, though.

He did the only reasonable thing he could think of, he was leaving the next morning for Denerim to consult with Loghain.  Loghain was still having trouble hunting down the last Crimson Wardens.  He had already sent a message to Antiva and his solution to both problems would be meeting him in the capital.  Leaving would hopefully take care of the worst of his problems, too. 

He was already packed and just wanted to relax.  Relaxing was why he now lay in a marble tub, while a pretty serving girl washed his back for him.  She didn’t seem happy about that, but knew better than to say anything.

“Hey, Rendon, I see you’re running away!”  There was his problem.  Bryce Cousland sat in front of the hearth, smirking at him.  “Are you not enjoying your time in Highever?  You didn’t really think my people were going to just sit back and make this easy for you, did you?”

Howe closed his eyes and groaned.

“What?  Are you going to give me the silent treatment?” Bryce mocked.  “I thought I was your best friend.  Of course, if I was your best friend, I’d hate to see how you treated your worst enemy.  Is this because you don’t want Ariella there to think you’re crazy.  Well, it’s too late.  She already knows you are.”

Howe glanced back at the woman.  Was it true?  Did she think he was crazy?  He wasn’t, but how was he supposed to tell people that Bryce wouldn’t leave him alone.  The man was probably duty bound to haunt the halls of his castle and Howe didn’t know why the serving girl didn’t see him.  At least he wouldn’t have to deal with him once he left for Denerim.  He would just ignore him and enjoy his bath.

The ghost stood up and walked to the tub.  “Do you know that I never knew how tiny parts of you were?  I should have figured.  How about some musical entertainment for your bath?  _I’m a Little Howe short and thin, who knows where I’ve been. Eliane once commented I was subpar, I couldn’t get her very far.”_ Bryce’s deep baritone made it sound like a drinking song.

It was going to be a long night.

 

 

Howe let out a sigh of relief when his carriage left the walls around Highever.  He had made it and was on his way to Denerim.  Perhaps he should see the Reverend Mother over Ferelden and explain his problem to her.  If she didn’t think him insane, she might help him out.  Perhaps the castle just needed an exorcism.  He smiled at the thought of Bryce Cousland’s ghost writhing in pain as the reverend mother cast him out.  He would… Howe’s carriage slammed to a halt.

“We just need a moment of your time, Good Lords,” a muffled voice came through the carriage.

“What is going on?”  Howe demanded to know.

His door was opened and six figures in cloaks and masks stood there.  Five word dark blue.  The lead figure’s cloak was a lighter blue with white brocade.  “We couldn’t let you leave, Earl Howe, without a departing gift.”

“It’s Duke Howe,” he corrected.

The figures all laughed.  “Sure it is,” the lead muttered.

“You want to give me a gift?”  He was confused.

“No, you’re going to give us a gift,” the leader clarified.  He pulled out a recurve.  There was an arrow with blue and white fletching on it.  “We’re going to take everything you’re carrying.  Keep those hands where we can see them.”

The other robbers were now also armed.  “You are having the privilege of being robbed by the Blue Mist and the Highever Resistance,” one of the other men declared.  “Long live the Couslands!”

“Long live Highever!” The others responded.

Captain Heath would take care of these rebels and bandits while he was a way.  Meanwhile, he waited for his opportunity to strike at them.  They would not get away with making him a victim and it was the last day Highever would see their Blue Arrow.  As they went through his luggage he saw his opportunity he stood up and put his hand on the dagger hidden in his coat’s breast’s inner pocket.  A mist sprang up rising quickly, turning into a thick fog.  It cleared just as quickly.  When it did, the Blue Mist and Highever Resistance were gone.


	30. Predestined Parties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three characters slowly move closer to the same destination.

Jowan Johansen knew why the Earl of Redcliffe was sick.  He’d done it, he’d poisoned Earl Eamon.  He found himself with plenty of time to reflect on his misdeeds as he sat in a cell in the dungeons of Redcliffe Castle.  He hadn’t seen sunlight in days, perhaps weeks or months.  He had lost track of time. 

At first, someone would come down and give him crusty old bread and stagnant water.  He’d fallen asleep four times since that had happened, though.  It appeared that Countess Isolde had decided to starve him to death.  He supposed he deserved it.

He had messed up while in the Kinloch Coven, where he’d grown up.  At first, he was just envious of some of the other mage’s powers.  He could never match Sabina or Alim for example.  He had found the coven’s secret section of the library, where the forbidden books were kept.  The forbidden spells were only allowed to be viewed by the senior enchanters.  He needed them, though.  He wanted to marry and leave or rather leave the island and marry a girl whose parents weren’t keen on the idea.

While many mages married and stayed in or near the coven, he had fallen in love with a Chantry initiate named Lily.  She was sweet, innocent, and loving; but her parents wanted her to be a Chantry Sister and could not be convinced to let her marry a mage.  He was going to use the forbidden spells on them to make them change their minds.  That way his Lily could be happy.

Something had gone wrong, though.  Lily’s parents had gone insane.  In her grief, she’d flung herself into Calenhad lake and been consumed by the beast that lived within a cave under its waters.  Worse, in his insanity, Lily’s father had sacrificed her sister, Hyacinth to the beast.  Not only were the Templars after him, so was the rest of Lily’s family.  Her remaining sister, Rose, and her brothers, Clove and Thyme, had sworn to make him pay for what he’d done.  They had declared a feud on the Johansen clan.

Jowan had fled towards Denerim, but been captured by the combined Kinloch and Barony forces as he headed east.  He was sure he would be dragged before a judge on charges of murder.  However, he’d been rescued by Duke Loghain and his forces.  Loghain had demanded a blood price for saving his life and made a deal.  He would protect Jowan in exchange for Jowan poisoning a man who threatened Thedas.  He didn’t know what Earl Eamon was up to, but Duke Loghain was the Hero of River Dane and the queen’s father.  He would always do what was best for Thedas, or so Jowan had thought at the time.

The Duke’s spies had discovered that Eamon’s only son, Connor, was a mage and that Countess Isolde refused to let him be taken to any covens to train.  She feared they would fill his head with their new age and political nonsense.  She wanted to raise her son after her own beliefs and keep him at home.  She just needed a tutor for him.  Duke Loghain had arranged an introduction and the rest was easy.

At least it was easy until Jowan had found himself locked in a dungeon.  It had become apparent to him that Loghain was not the man he once thought and that he was to be left there to rot.  That made him begin to suspect that it was Loghain, and not Eamon, who might be a threat to Ferelden. 

There was only one way to know if he’d been bamboozled and he’d have to live to find out.  He studied the doors of his cell.  The Templars had wards and potions on their doors to keep mages in their prison cells.  Most nobles did not imprison mages, or anyone for that matter.  The dungeon he was in had likely not been used between the time the Orlesians had been driven out of Ferelden and he, himself, had been thrown in.

He put a hand up to the lock and concentrated.  Things would have been easier if he weren’t in the process of starving.  Still, his magic flared to life and he used a small flame to melt the lock.  He then looked around and slipped deeper into the dungeon, sure there was a secret tunnel out.  He stopped when he heard screaming from the castle and then shook his head.  It wasn’t his problem.  He was getting out of there.

 

 

Sir Gilmore Ashforde was on a mission again.  He’d fled to the Storm Coast from Castle Cousland.  Rather than take a ship out of Thedas, though, he’d then turned south.  He had not forgotten that there was a Blight ascending onto Ferelden and that he bore the Mark, the Mark of the Covenant that marked him as one of those born to fight the undead.  He had a duty to his people and he would find a way to fulfill it.

That didn’t mean he would forget what Howe and his ilk had done, though.  While near the Frostback Basin, he had gone to a shrine of the Avvar god, Korth, and sworn an oath to him.  He would not rest, not even in death, until the Howes had all been hunted down and made to pay for what had happened in Highever.  One of theirs would die for every single member of the Cousland family and their servants who’d been slaughtered at the Howe’s hands. 

First, he would fight the Blight.  However, while doing so, he would raise an army and free the castle for those Couslands who were left.  That was why when he met a merchant at the crossroad between Redcliffe and Edgehall who had a control rod for a golem in Honnleath, he had taken it.  A golem would be a great ally against both the undead and the Howes.  The only catch was that Honnleath was under attack by the vampiric horde that was sweeping across Southern Ferelden.  The merchant had told him that the code to activate the golem was _Eyre_ and then left.

Gilmore headed south to Honnleath.  He heard about what happened at Ostagar as he stayed in a tavern on the edge of a lake, about one day from Honnleath.  He had been looking out at the lake, watching the water as the serving wench set drinks down.  She was a talkative one and told him all about the defeat of Cailan’s forces and how all of the Crimson Wardens had died.  She was confused as to why Duke Loghain would put a bounty on the heads of the Crimson Wardens in Ferelden if they had all been killed, though.  Gilmore told her that he hoped some had escaped.  After all, that had almost been him.  Plus, they would need the Wardens to defeat the Vampire King.

She also told him of Loghain’s efforts to take over Ferelden and how he’d declared himself the queen’s regent.  “His men are calling him King Loghain now,” she added.  “I bet Cailan is spinning in his grave.  It makes it hard to sleep at night.  Of course, you could help me with that tonight, if you’d like.”

He politely declined, as he continued to look over the water.  So Duke Bryce Cousland had been attacked and murdered and within a month, Duke Loghain was sitting on the throne and calling himself king.  Gilmore wondered if there was a connection between Earl Howe and Duke Loghain.  He’d never known the two men to be close friends, but he was only the captain of Duke Bryce’s guards.  He’d be sure to ask Earl Howe before he killed him.

 

 

That night, _the Little Stranger’s Tavern_ ’s security measures failed.  Gilmore awoke from a dream where he’d been watching Maeve practice with her sword master during a light spring rain fall when he felt pressure on his chest.  He went from admiring the way Maeve’s practice tunic clung wetly to her to seeing a voluptuous woman straddling him.  Her only coverage was her wild blonde hair that cascaded around her.  She was running her hands up his chest.

“Pardon, madam, but I believe we are having a misunderstanding here,” he tried to dislodge her, intent on reaching his sword before she could drain his energy.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” she rubbed herself against him.  “You’re obviously happy to see me.”

He was grateful that he’d left his pants on when he’d gone to bed or his new bed companion would probably already be impaled on him and draining his energy… among other things.  He had no doubt about what she was.  “I thought this tavern had better protections up than this.  How did you get through?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that darling,” the creature pressed her lips to his as she raked her nails gently down his chest.  “My desire for you was greater than any pesky wards and protections.  Besides, some of my friends killed that pesky tavern keeper and his family.  So there was no need to invite them in anymore.  Others took care of those stinking weeds around the tavern weeks ago.  We’ve been watching this place for months now.”

Gilmore gripped the creature’s hips and flipped her over, pressing his lips to hers.  At the same time, he reached under the bed and gripped the edge of his sword.  He reared up and cut the succubus’ head clear off.  Dressing quickly, he went to the door.  As he stepped into the hallway, he saw others sneaking around, going into room after room.  No, not others, they were vampires. 

He locked the door and went for the window, flinching as it creaked when opened.  He slowly lowered himself down onto the sill and then carefully gripped the storm drain, using it to lower himself to the ground.  His first stop was the stables.  Luckily the band of undead had yet to go after the horses.  He quickly realized he couldn’t leave the proud creatures trapped with such dangerous predators on the loose.  He quickly saddled one of the steeds and opened the doors to the rest of the stalls. 

As he rode away, the other horses began milling out.  One smelled the predators and blood on the air.  He whinnied and his companions fled, running to and fro as Gilmore headed south.  The large, full moon lit his way.

 

 

The moon was still Gilmore’s only light when he got close to Honnleath.  He would have known that he was near the town, anyway.  People were running up the road, some had wagons, but many were on foot.  They were carrying would they could grab as they ran from the vampiric horde.

As he got to the end of the fleeing crowd, he saw half a dozen undead.  There was a variety of races, but they seemed to all have one goal, to feed.  He watched as a lamia grabbed a little girl and opened its mouth, showing long canines.

Sir Gilmore let out a war cry as he charged the vampires.

 

 

Sabina Amell had traveled with Wynne, and two other of their fellow mages who’d they’d met up with outside of Ostagar, as far as the Hinterlands.  Wynne and the other mages had continued north, to Kinloch.  Sabina had headed west.

She had decided to go on to Honnleath.  When she was young, her parents had introduced her to a mage named Wilhelm Rutherford who had fought beside Queen Moira: The Rebel Queen and her son, King Maric, during the revolution against Orlais.  Not only was he a talented mage, he also bore the Mark.  He was experimenting on different magical techniques to fight the undead.  He even had a goal to find a way for a Chosen One to kill a Vampire King without going through the Crimson Warden ritual.  If anyone could teach her what she needed to know in these desperate times, he could.  She just hoped he was still alive. 

The trip through the Hinterlands had been uneventful.  It appeared that the undead had not yet invaded.  She’d encountered a few wolves, but they had been easy enough to handle.  She’d also had a lucky meeting with a horse master named Dennet.  He’d traded a chestnut filly in exchange for her summoning a storm to help his crop and a de-lusting potion to get his daughter uninterested in the new hot farmer who’d moved into the area with his young wife.  He’d feared his daughter was making excuses to be alone with the young farmer and he’d seen her mooning over him several times.

On her last night, she chose to continue riding instead of stopping in a tavern and seeking protection from the creatures of the night.  She could sense an increase in the number of vampires around, thanks to the combination of her Mark and magic.  However, the sky was clear, allowing a full moon to light her way.  She realized she might have made a mistake in choosing Honnleath as her destination when she saw the refugees fleeing for their lives.  It was still a few hours before sunrise, they should be huddled in the city asleep or roaming their farms in small groups as they protected their livestock.

“Run!”  A man yelled to her.  “Run while you can!  The end is nigh!  Flee from this evil.”

She looked towards the city and saw the vampiric horde hunting the fleeing townsfolk as a pack of wolves would hunt a herd of halla.  Blood now splattered the walls around the village.  She lifted her hand and called down lightning and ice, and then she let out a battle cry and charged.


	31. On the Road Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maeve's group travels north from Lothering.

After much discussion, Maeve and Alistair decided to go to Kinloch Hold first.  They were both greatly worried about Eamon, but agreed that getting the mages agreement to help was a priority.

“Maybe we can pick up a healer there,” Alistair commented.  “We don’t even know what is wrong with Eamon.”

“I’m sure the Guerrins have a healer,” Balder interrupted.  “What noble house doesn’t employ a healer?”

Maeve just glared at the dwarf for a moment.  She knew she was being unfair, but she had started this… whatever it was… with Alistair and she didn’t like when the others butted in on their little war meetings.  Yes, she needed all the help she could get, that didn’t mean she needed them adding to the strategy meetings, though.  She realized she was turning into Alistair; couldn’t they just do this with only the two of them and VanHowling? 

“The countess is Orlesian,” was all that Alistair said in explanation.

Maeve traced the tip of her quill’s feather along the map of Thedas.  “We’ll head north to here,” she indicated the island in Lake Calenhad had that the Kinloch Coven had claimed for their own.   “We could then take a ferry to the other side of the lake and head to the dwarves in Orzammar.”

“I would rather not have to go back there yet, it might cause trouble,” Balder admitted.

“You mentioned being exiled,” Leliana recalled.  “If they think you killed your brother, then perhaps we should only send in a few people; maybe the Wardens and their dog.  Oh, and Morrigan, I think she’ll like the dwarves.  We could stay outside and enjoy playing parlor games while we wait for them.”

“I’m sure parlor games with you would be so entertaining, Leliana,” Morrigan dug.  “I could see you playing charades.  How long would it take to act out the entire Chant of Light?”

“If it’s the Templar University, less than thirty minutes,” Alistair revealed.  At Maeve’s look he chuckled.  “I’m not kidding about how bad it was.”  He glanced at Balder.  “I do understand not wanting to go home.”

“If we end up going into the Deep Roads, we’re going to need all hands on deck,” Maeve countered.  “We’ll decide when we get there.  I guess we still need to get to Redcliffe, so we’ll go around the lake to there.  I doubt that Loghain will be watching those coming from the west as closely.”

“You will need to confront this Duke Loghain eventually,” Morrigan pointed out.  “I say you stop trying to avoid him and take him head on now.”

“He has a private army,” Alistair pointed out.  “He won’t be that easy to defeat.”

“He doesn’t accept one on one duels, I know that,” Maeve recalled.  “At his heart, he’s a coward.  He will hide behind his men.  We may have to stop by the capital for supplies, though.”  She would need to find out what Howe was up to before she fit in hunting him down and killing him into her plans.

 

 

The first day of travel was uneventful.  The group rode in relative peace.  With so many travelers and refugees on the road, they managed to avoid any of Loghain’s men.  Balder flirted with both Morrigan and Leliana, while VanHowling trotted beside the horses happily.”

Maeve pressed Alistair for details about his family.  “You talk a lot about Redcliffe; I take it that is where you were born.”

“As far as I know, it is,” Alistair confirmed.

“You also seem very worried about Earl Eamon,” she hesitated for a moment.  “Are you a Guerrin?”

“What?”  His voice raised an octave.  “No!”

“Oh, that would have explained why Cailan was so protective of you,” she had noticed that there was something between the two men.  Not only were there a few features that they shared, but Cailan had obviously been trying to protect Alistair more than once.  “After all, his mother was the earl’s sister,” she pointed out.  “You do know the earl personally, though, don’t you?”

He hesitated a moment.  “I do.”

“Who were your parents, if your father isn’t one of the Guerrins,” she pressed.  “You are obviously well educated and cultured.”

“I was raised by dogs,” He declared.

“Dogs?”  Her heart sank a bit.  Why wouldn’t he tell her the truth?  “These dogs were able to raise a human child and enroll him in a prestigious academy.”

“Well, they were Anderfels,” he explained.  “They were very smart and could fly.  They were also very strict Andrastians.”

“I hope you write home often,” she responded.  “I bet your mother is a real bitch.”

He laughed at her response, smiling at her.  She smiled back and he blushed a bit.

The group was silent for another hour and then Balder struck up a conversation with Morrigan.  “Your mother is really Flemeth?  _The_ Flemeth?  The Witch of the Wilds from legends.  We’ve even heard of her in Orzammar.  I had a book of human fairytales growing up.  A couple of them even featured her.  Do you have any stories?”

“She could tell them much better than I,” Morrigan assured him.

“What about your sisters?”  He pressed.  “I’ve heard tales of Flemeth’s many daughters.”

“I never met any sisters,” Morrigan shrugged.  “If I had any, I don’t know where they are now.  My mother definitely seems old enough to have children who were already grown before she had me, though.”

Maeve was listening in on their conversation, as she had some of the same questions that Balder was asking.  Then she noticed Leliana turn back and smile flirtatiously at Alistair.  “So you know the Chant of Light?”  She fluttered her eyelashes at him.  “I bet you could recite all of the scripture versus to me.  I’ve also heard that vampires can not stand to have the Chant of Light recited to them.  Is that true?”

“I’ve never tried it before,” Alistair admitted.  “Usually I use my sword to fight the undead.  I have never had an opportunity to preach a sermon at one.”

“Can you recite the entire Chant of Light, Leliana?” Maeve wondered.  “You were living in a cloister until just a few days ago, after all.  I imagine that you could.”

“I am able to, yes,” Leliana was proud of that.

“We could try to put you in a room, alone with a vampire, and see if the chant works,” Maeve suggested.  “It would be a scientific experiment.”

“We wouldn’t leave you alone,” Alistair assured her.  “We would be there to protect you.  It would be interesting to see what would happen, though.”

“Or she could just ask her Maker the next time he sends her a prophetic dream,” Morrigan joined in.  “Then we will put her alone in the room with the vampire and see if this imaginary Maker told the truth.”

“You don’t believe in the Maker?” Leliana clutched at the cross she wore.  “How could you not believe in Him?  He is in the air we breathe, the water we drink, and the beauty of the hillside.”

“Yes, the squalor of the refugees running from the undead makes for such a beautiful sight,” Morrigan muttered.

“What did the witches and Chasind teach you to believe, Morrigan?”  Leliana challenged.  “You must believe in something.”

“I believe in…” Balder began.

“Stay out of this,” Leliana snapped at him.

“What other games…?” Maeve began, but was cut off by two of her companions.

“Now look here you overly Faithful Busy Body!”  Morrigan yelled at Leliana.

“Why should I you Evil Maniacal Witch?  Are you going to teach me how to abduct babies and spoil the milk still in cows?”  Leliana countered.

“I don’t think you were the only one raised by dogs,” Maeve muttered to Alistair as they listened to two of their companions exchange barbs for over an hour.

 

 

_The Tevinter_ was a well-protected tavern located on Lake Calenhad, near the south-western edge of the bannorn.  The ale was passable, but the wine was the worst that Maeve had ever drunk.  She’d finally settled on their mead and ate her dinner in relative quiet.  Leliana and Morrigan had sworn never to talk to each other again and Balder had finally stopped trying to flirt with either one of them.

After her meal, she’d gone to the nearby shore to watch the water.  She found it peaceful, yet it also made her miss the more violent motions of the Waking Sea.  She missed home.  She turned a bit as Alistair sat down beside her.  “I brought us one of our wine bottles,” he sat the bottle down beside them and opened it.  “It’s a bit dangerous out here alone.”

Maeve shrugged.  “I may not have drank from some chalice and survived, but I am a Chosen One.  I can sense when a vampire gets too close.  I can also deal with drunken idiots and highwaymen.”

“I’ve seen that,” he smiled.  “Your fighting style is definitely enthusiastic.” 

“Enthusiastic?”  She took a sip of the wine.  “I could probably take you.”

“We’ll have to discuss that when we aren’t near a lake that is rumored to have some sort of monster in it,” he declared.  “Do you believe in the Lake Calenhad monster?”

“We live in a world with vampires, werewolves, and dragons,” she pointed out.  “I wouldn’t be surprised by any creature living in a large lake.”

“Good point,” he nodded.  “You grew up by the Waking Sea, didn’t you?  In Highever?”

“We could see the sea from the top of the castle,” she informed him.  “We went down to the coast often and my mother was a brilliant sailor.”  She didn’t add that her mother had been the Ferelden Pirate known as the Sea Wolf during the war against Orlais.

“You’ve mentioned that Duke Bryce Cousland was your father and I heard rumors about some tragedy in Highever while in Ostagar,” Alistair lifted the bottle to his lips and took a long drink.  “I don’t know exactly what happened, though.”

She stared out at the water for several minutes and then took a long drink.  “This may take more than one bottle.  My father was good friends with Earl Rendon Howe of Amaranthine…” She began.

Two hours later, Balder and VanHowling found the pair curled up together beside the lake.  Alistair was stroking Maeve’s bright curls, while tear tracks stained his own cheeks.  She was crying into his shoulder as she clung to him, as if for dear life.

“Get it all out, Freckles,” Alistair crooned.  “I’m here for you.”  He glanced up at Balder and VanHowling.  He held up an arm so the mabari could come cuddle up with his mistress, but shook his head, indicating that he wanted the dwarf to go.

Balder just shook his head and went back in.  He was curious as to what had happened to the other Chosen One and wondered if her story might be as tragic as his.  He had a horrible feeling that it was even worse.

 

 

Things were quiet the next day for the first few hours.  They had enjoyed a hearty breakfast at _The Tevinter_ of eggs, toasted bread, and nug bacon.  Then they were back on the road, heading north.

“The refugees seem to be thinning out,” Morrigan observed.  “’Tis very nice.”  As if to challenge her sentiment, a family stepped onto the road.

“You came from the east,” Balder observed.  “Is there undead activity in the bannorn?”

“Not any more than usual, yet?” The oldest daughter of the family told him.  “A civil war has started in Ferelden and it seems that the barons are fighting against King Loghain.”

“Duke,” Maeve corrected her automatically.

“He seem to think he’s the king now,” Alistair muttered.  “We’ll disabuse him of the notion when we meet up with him.”

“Well, the barons won’t accept him as king, either,” the girl shrugged.  “We were going to go to Highever to try our luck there, but we heard that there is unrest there as well.”

“What have you heard about Highever?”  Maeve sat up straighter.

“The city is in the midst of some conflict, my lady, like a rebellion,” the farmer’s daughter explained.  “The people won’t accept Duke Howe’s rule.  There is an organized rebel force who is led by a rogue called The Blue Mist.  They say he is an expert archer and disappears into the mists.  Gossips also claim that the rogue has someone with the Sight in their band of rebels, who gives them a bit of an advantage.  There is also pirate activity on the Waking Sea near there.  Rumors say the _Mistral_ , the Seawolf’s ship from legends, has been seen.  It just appears out of a fog and attacks any ships that are associated with the Howes or may be sending help.  Duke Loghain even lost a ship carrying men and supplies near the coast.”

“The _Mistral_ is flying again?” Maeve’s words were tight, as if she were choking on something or trying to force air through her longs.

“They’re just rumors, My Lady,” the farmer interjected.  “There is no need to get upset over them.”

Maeve wiped away a tear.  “It’s all right.  I’m not upset… exactly.”  Indeed, there was a bit of a smile on her face.  She dared not give into hope, but hope was there nonetheless.

“Thank you for the information,” Balder bowed to them.  He hoped to get rumors of what was happening in his own home when they got closer to Orzammar.  Possibly, he could find word in Denerim.  He noticed that Maeve was wiping away another tear.  “Are you all right, Maeve?”

She nodded and continued on.

 

 

The group settled into _The Thirteenth Inn_ for the night.  The inn was old, but well maintained, and was doing a bristling business thanks to the Blight.  As the others settled in, Alistair took Maeve for a walk along the lake shore.  Neither spoke for a long time, and then Alistair finally mustered up the courage to talk.  “It sounds like your people are fighting back.”

“They are,” she nodded.  “I’m rather happy about that.  Highever is a wonderful place to live and I’m not just saying that as their rightful duchess.  It is prosperous and the people have thrived, even during the Orlesian occupation they managed to come together to resist the invaders while still keeping the city in one piece or so I’m told.  There are buildings that have been standing since before Highever became part of Ferelden.  Yet, my people would still destroy those buildings and their thriving businesses rather than bend knee to someone like Earl Rendon Howe.  I’m proud of them, but I worry.  I still had friends in Highever, friends who didn’t reside in the castle.  They will be caught in the middle of that.”

“Do you have any ideas about who this Blue Mist might be?”  He wondered if she knew anyone who would become a legendary rebel leader.  His grandmother had been one, but he had yet to muster the courage to tell her about _that_.

“I have a few,” she admitted.  “I do know that the _Mistral_ was indeed still sea worthy.”

“The pirate ship?”  He recalled the farmers mentioning it.  He’d heard about the legendary ship that used to attack Orlesian merchants and military vessels.  It was thought to have taken refuge somewhere on the Storm Coast when it wasn’t hunting Orlesians.  “Wasn’t it captained by the Seawolf?  Surely he would be retired long before now or at least retired.”

“ _She_ did retire,” Maeve corrected.  “I was sure that she died the night that Duncan dragged me from my home.  She had refused to leave my father’s side, after all.  She was determined that they would die together.  Alistair, there is only one person I know of that knew where the _Mistral_ was harbored and was an excellent enough sailor to have been, or to be, a pirate queen.”

“Maeve,” he put a finger under her chin and lifted her face to look into her eyes.  There were tears in them again.

“Alistair…” She gulped and smiled.  “I think my mother may still be alive.”  She threw her arms around him.

He held onto her, as her arms tightened.  He wondered how he would feel if he was given hope that Duncan was still alive.  He’d never known his mother, but he imagined that it would be hard to balance a mix of hope and the fear to give into the hope only to have one’s heartbroken again.  “I hope she is,” held onto her for some time.  “We know that someone is giving Howe and Loghain a hard time in the name of a Cousland.”

“This Cousland is going to give them an even harder time,” she swore.  “They have no idea yet who they are messing with.”


	32. A Bad Time to Visit Honnleath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gilmore and Sabina search for a missing child in exchange for the password to the golem in Honnleath

Sir Gilmore Ashforde realized that he might be facing the last night of his life.  He had managed to save the little girl, who was even now in the arms of her mother who was running from the undead as fast as she could.  He had the remains of half a dozen vampires lay at his feet, but another dozen surrounded him.  Well, if he was to meet the Maker this night, he would meet him as an honorable man who’d shown great valor and skill on the battlefield and who had saved the lives of as many innocents as possible.

He blocked the sword of a Byronic Vampire even as he decapitated a Draugr.  Then he heard thunder above him and the crackle of lightning.  The Byronic vampire laughed in delight.  “The King has sent us another storm.  We shall be able to feast throughout the day as well!”  He laughed, until a lightning bolt flashed through him.  He was thrown back.  Another bolt followed, frying him where he lay.

It was then that a feminine war cry rent the air.  Ice crested around another of the vampire’s neck, before it too was struck by lightning.  The combination caused the creature’s head to fly off.  Then a fireball engulfed on of the Draugr.  A woman in mage fashion came riding in, holding up staff that shot fire at another of the undead monsters.  Her golden blonde hair seemed to be a source of light as she descended on the parasitic fiends.

Sabina Amell dispatched one vampire after another who was surrounding the ginger knight who was willing to give his life for the helpless villagers as he continued to slay those who challenged them.  When the last of the creatures was truly dead, the pair faced each other.

“This seems to be a bad time to visit Honnleath,” Gilmore observed.

“It’s not a great time to be in Ferelden,” Sabina countered.  “Just ask the villagers.”

“Good point,” Gilmore agreed.  “Especially, with… well, now’s not the time to discuss that.  I need to go further into the village; I would love your company as I do, my lady.”

“I’d be honored to, good Sir Knight,” she followed him in.

The pair had barely made it pass the first block of buildings before they encountered more undead.  They worked in synch to clear out the creatures.  Most had been expecting an easy hunt that night and little resistance.  None had expected there to be two Chosen Ones who were armed and trained to fight nearby.

“I know we haven’t been properly introduced,” Gilmore parried a nosferatu’s sword thrust and lunged at the creature, scoring the heart.  “However, I personally believe that slaughtering undead monsters is a nice substitute for a formal introduction through a respectable party.”  He beheaded the creature and wiped blood from his cheek.

“I agree,” Sabina noticed a fog rolling in from a nearby lake and increased the rain from her storm in an attempt to disperse it, even as she aimed another fire flash from her staff.  She managed to catch a Draugr and nosferatu both.

“I’m Sir Gilmore Ashorde of Highever,” he made a slight bow before engaging his next enemy.  “It’s a pleasure to meet you and not just because you saved my life.”

“Sabina Amell of the Kinloch Coven,” she smiled over at him as she sent a blast of ice at a Byronic vampire.  “The pleasure is mine and not just because I’m happy to not be the only trying to fight these monsters instead of running.”  She followed the ice with a lightning blast.

When they reached the town square, they found a large statue in the middle of a field of monkshood.  “This is what brought me here,” Gilmore confessed.  “A merchant sold me a control rod for this golem.”

“This is a golem?”  She eyed the creature.  “I can see why it would be affective against vampires.  I wonder if it can just rip their heads right off.”

“That would be an admirable trait,” he lifted the control rod.  “ _Eyre_!”  Nothing happened.

“Are you sure that thing works?”  Sabina moved a wet lock of hair away from her eyes and regarded the control rod warily.  “I’m here to find someone; perhaps they’ll know what’s wrong.”

“Whoever you’re looking for has probably fled,” Gilmore pointed out.

“He wouldn’t have gotten far,” she grimaced.  “He was old when I met him over ten years ago.  His name is Wilhelm Rutherford.  He had three sons who lived in this village as well, along with several grandchildren.  They might have taken him with them, but even some of his notes might help.”

“Let’s go find any survivors,” Gilmore decided.  “What do you need this Wilhelm for?”

“He’s the only other mage I know who bears the Mark and has fought the undead without going through the Crimson Wardens Joining,” she explained.  “I’ve decided to stop sitting on my butt when I’m a Chosen One and there is a Blight tearing apart my country, especially now that…  Duke Loghain was not saving his men from a bad battle strategy at Ostagar.  _He’s_ the one who was making the plans; everyone there could easily see that.  He betrayed our king and let him be killed.”

“And now he has proclaimed himself regent and his followers are calling him King Loghain,” Gilmore added.  “I doubt it was a coincidence that Earl Howe attacked Castle Cousland shortly before the battle, either.” 

“Duke Bryce’s daughter challenged Loghain to a duel, I wonder if she suspected something,” Sabina recalled.

“Maeve challenged Loghain to a duel?”  The brought a smile to Gilmore’s face.

“You know her?”  Sabina was studying a nearby wall.

“We grew up together,” he confessed.  “I… I was the head of Duke Bryce Cousland’s personal guards.  I was leaving to join the Crimson Wardens, but then Howe attacked.  I managed to get out of the castle after it fell.”

“You’ll have to tell me about…”  She stopped and pressed a stone.  Part of the wall swung back to reveal a set of stairs leading down.

“If there are any survivors, they’ll be in there,” Gilmore deduced. 

The first few floors appeared to be a distillery.  It seemed that some of the people of Honnleath were distilling their own alcohol to avoid taxes.  They encountered a few vampires, but nothing they couldn’t handle.  Then they came to the bottom floor.  There was a group of villagers behind an impressive barrier and about three dozen vampires.  An incubus was leaning against the barrier, chatting up one of the villagers.  The rest appeared to be looking for something.

At first, the undead didn’t seem to realize that anything was wrong.  Then they noticed the head with the unusually long canines roll by them, followed by a flaming lamia.  There were three dead Draugr behind her.

“Hello, guys,” Gilmore beheaded another of the creatures.  “Are we interrupting things?”

“I’m so bad about doing that,” Sabina lifted her left hand and called down the lightning from the storm she had created above them.  She flung out her hand and hit three of the undead.  “I think it’s from growing up as a mage in a family where half my siblings and cousins were mages.  Sure, I got attention from my mentors,” she flung out ice and followed it by more lightning, killing another vampire.  “However, they had other students as well.  Plus, learning magic takes a lot of reading and private study.”  She caught the leader of the group in a lightning cage, every time he tried to move, he was struck again and again by streams of electricity.  “I just didn’t get enough attention growing up.”

“I was always second fiddle to the duke’s children,” Gilmore admitted as he, took another vampire’s head.  “Even the duke’s daughter was also born as One of the Chosen ones,” he hit a nosferatu with his shield as he beheaded the incubus.  “Sure, she didn’t want to spend her life fighting the undead, but I was nothing special.  ‘Oh, you bear the Mark of the Covenant?  Well, so does Little Maeve.  Do you want a cookie or something?’  It made me desperate to prove that the Mark did make me special.”  He thrust his sword into a Byronic’s heart.

“I hear what you’re saying,” Sabina agreed.  She hit another vampire with a stream of fire from the staff in her right hand even as she flung out fire with her left.  “I never told anyone that I was one of the Chosen, though.  There are enough people out there who still fear my magic, I didn’t want to add other skills for them to tremble about.  Things aren’t as bad as they were before the reformation, but you know the Templars watch you more closely.”

When the last of the vampires had been slain, one of the villagers lowered the barrier.  With the ionized and heated air, the release of the barrier created a fog that caused the close confines to feel claustrophobic.

“By the Maker, we’re saved!”  The woman the incubus had been chatting up threw her arms around Sir Gilmore.

“Pardon madam,” he stepped back.  “But we haven’t been properly introduced.

“You weren’t sent by the baron, were you?” A blonde haired villager wondered.  “To save us?”

“I doubt the baron believes anyone is still alive in this village,” Sabina admitted.  “There were a good number of the undead outside when I arrived and even more when my friend did.  This is Sir Gilmore,” she introduced him.  “I am Sabina Amell.”

“I suppose I should be grateful that someone came at all, then,” the villager nodded.  “Thank you.  But if you weren’t sent by someone why are you here?  If you don’t mind my asking.”

“I was looking for Wilhelm Rutherford,” Sabina admitted.  “I was hoping that he could help me develop my skills in fighting the undead.  I’m one of the Chosen Ones, but I’m not a Crimson Warden.”

“Frankly, ma’am, I don’t think you need any help,” the villager pointed out.  “You did well enough against the creatures on your own.  You seem to have the reflexes and strength of a Chosen One, I don’t know what more my father could have taught you.”

“He’s your father?” Sabina couldn’t believe her luck.  If anyone could point her to Wilhelm, it would be this villager.

“He _was_ my father,” the villager corrected.  “He died several years ago.  I am Matthias Rutherford.  The books around here were my fathers.  Take any that you find.”

“Thank you,” she silently cursed that the man had had the bad grace to die.  While he’d been old, he should have had at least another decade left in him.

“I’m looking for whoever owns the statue outside,” Gilmore added.

“The statue outside?”  Matthias seemed confused at first.  “Why would… oh, I think I see.  You bought the control rod, didn’t you?  You came here looking for Shale.  Let’s speak privately.”  He gave the other villagers a pointed look.

“The village is as safe as it’s going to be in the foreseeable future,” Gilmore pointed out to them.  The villagers, with the exception of Matthias, fled. 

Matthias watched them go before speaking again.  “That damnable golem brought us nothing but trouble.  My mother sold the rod years ago, after it killed my father, and good riddance.”

“It killed your father?”  Gilmore glanced at Sabina.

“That explains why he’s dead,” Sabina shrugged.  “I can still see how the creature will be useful, though.  It’s up to you.”

“My father was Wilhelm Rutherford, mage to the Earls of Redcliffe and a hero in the war against Orlais.  And what did he get?  One day my mother found him outside of his laboratory; with so many broken bones she could barely recognize him.  Shale was standing over him just like it is now,” Matthias explained.  “My father deserved better than that.  But if you really want to wake Shale up… well, it’s yours now.”

“Thanks,” Gilmore grimaced.  “There is a problem, though.  The control rod didn’t work.”

“My mother might have passed along the wrong command phrase when she sold the rod,” Matthias realized.  “She said she never wanted to see Shale active again.  Look, I’ll tell you the command phrase… in exchange for a little favor first.”

“Saving your life wasn’t enough?”  Sabina went to the tome that sat open on a pedestal at the top of a nearby landing and started to read.  “It’s your decision, Gilmore.  I’ll help you, but the control rod is yours and you get to decide whether this favor is worth it.”

“I know you already saved my life, and I’m grateful,” Matthias assured them.  “But my daughter is inside the secret laboratory!  She was afraid and ran in before I could stop her.  I don’t know how she made it past my father’s defenses.  One of the men tried to go after her.  He was killed.  But… you could find her, couldn’t you, sir knight?”

“I’ll go find her,” Gilmore assured him.  “I would hate to think about what could happen to a child on their own down in caves and other permanently dark places.”

“You will?”  Matthias’ face lit up.  “Thank the Maker!  My father’s laboratory is just past the next area, I think.  She has to be there!”

Gilmore looked over at Sabina.  “My lady?”

“I will be happy to help you, my lord,” she went to him and followed as he led her down a series of tunnels to the secret laboratory.  “Secret laboratories are rarely used to summon things that a coven doesn’t frown upon… or for dangerous experiments.  I wonder if he was trying to raise the dead or create life.”

“He was making vampires?”  He wondered.

“Perhaps zombies or another undead,” she suggested.  “He might have caught one of the vampires and been experimenting on it.  He could have been making deals with unseelie fey or even demons, depending on his goals.  Most who are just developing and fine tuning their powers or experimenting with magic don’t need secret laboratories.  Besides, you heard his son, _‘he was the mage to the Earls of Redcliffe and a big deal war hero’_.  The man’s ego was likely huge.”  She continued to follow him.  “That’s strange.”

“What’s strange,” he turned back to look at her and saw her picking some of the plants that were growing along the stone walls.  “Dirt probably just seeped up and weeds began to grow.”

“These aren’t weed,” she continued to pick a few plants.  “It’s elfroot and Andraste’s grace.  Andraste’s grace is known to repel vampires.  Elfroot is used in healing potions.  I wonder if he had a reason to want them down here.”

“Who doesn’t need plants to repel the undead?” Gilmore wondered.  “This place doesn’t get natural light after all.” 

They continued on for a few more steps.  “Wait,” Sabina stopped at looked at more plants.  She viewed a sprig with little yellow flowers and dug down to remove the entire sprig by its roots.  “This is agrimony.  That…” she pointed to a stalk with white bulbs.  “… that is angelica.  It isn’t even native to Ferelden.”

“I guess it would be pretty in a garden,” Gilmore shrugged.

“Gilmore, did you hear that it isn’t a native flower?”  She took that plant by the roots as well.  “Wilhelm likely planted these.  There!”  She pointed further up.  “That’s motherwort!  They repel demons and other evil spirits.  He was summoning down here.  These are to keep the spirits and demons from getting out, not from getting in.  I bet we’ll find a chamber without any of these plants.”

“You said that elfroot was only used for healing,” he pointed out.  “Besides, it is a common plant in Ferelden.”

“It is… I wonder why it’s here,” she frowned, but still picked another sprig.  “Perhaps his notes will tell us.”

The first chamber they made it to held several chests and a dozen empty book shelves.  There were also several shades there, along with the men that Matthias had sent after his daughter.  Gilmore tried to fight one, but his sword went through it.

“What did I tell you, evil spirits,” she sent lightning out and fried three of them.  There were two more.  “ _Ad quos eieci te malum de spirituum domain. Ad Culpa autem et molesta erunt ultra_.”  The other two shades disappeared. 

“Thanks for that,” he began checking the chest.  He found a few basic supplies, which he took and a ring that glowed.  There was also a strange helmet.  He wondered if he should replace his with it.  “How could an ordinary girl make it through here?  The shades killed those men.”

“Those were the defenses that Matthias referred to,” Sabina searched a small desk in the room.  She found a book, which she put in her pack.  “It looks like this was his journal.  I can’t believe I was going to him for help.  The way he managed to fight was obviously using some dark magic.  This is beyond the basic forbidden levels.”

Gilmore set the helmet down on the desk.  “I don’t know if I want to use that then.”

“Just put it in my pack, I’ll test it for dark magic later,” she opened the pack.

“How much room is in that thing?”  He looked down into it.

She shrugged.  “It’s magic.  Don’t question it.”

He smiled at that.  “Yes, my lady.  I’m lucky to have such a powerful, and beautiful, mage with me right now.”

“Of course you are,” she agreed.  “You’d have been killed by those shades and that would have been bad.”

He continued to lead her down more tunnels.  “Do you think we’ll find something even worse in the next chamber?”

“Yes, yes I do,” she pointed to yet another plant.  “That foul smelling odor is coming from there.  It’s St. John’s Wort.  It is smelly, but powerful when burned.  It can also cause people to become suicidal when consumed.  It may have a similar effect on demons.”

“Are you going to tell me these crystals aren’t natural?”  He asked as they continued to navigate the tunnels.

“I’m not sure,” she admitted.  “That is amethyst,” she took some of the stones.  “They help develop psychic abilities.  They are used when practicing telekinesis and other psychic spells.  There are forbidden magics that have been attempted to get into the mind of an enemy, but it’s never worked.  It also helps with grief and cleanses the aura.  There is also obsidian here.  It’s supposed be a shield from evil energies.”   She took some of that as well.

“There was an artisan in Highever who liked to work with obsidian,” he remembered.  He continued through the tunnels.  “She would make obsidian crosses and other jewelry.  Her sister was incorporating it into the armor she made.

They finally came to the end of the tunnel.  There was another chamber.  This one had no furniture and many exposed beams.  In the middle of the chamber was a large pentagram.  A large candle still stood at each point. 

There was a little blonde girl at the edge of the pentagram.  She wore a locket and carried on old stuffed animal.  She was kneeling beside a cat.  “What do you mean you’ve never climbed a tree?  Don’t cats like to be in trees?”  She noticed Gilmore and Sabina.  “Oh looks, someone’s come to play!  I do so like to play.  You have come to play, haven’t you?  We’re playing a guessing game.  It’s better with more people.”

“Who is we?” Gilmore looked around.

“Me and kitty, of course, silly,” the girl laughed.

Sabina felt the hairs on her arm stand up straight.  Something was very wrong here.  She moved cautiously around the pentagram, studying it.  Nearby, she noticed the head of a goat, but that was only a small part of the problem she was sensing.

“Oh good, you’re safe,” Gilmore smiled at the girl.  “Your father was worried about you.”  He had begun to get the willies for some reason; he looked over at Sabina who was biting her lip.  She made a small shake of her head.

“Father…?”  Amelia cocked her head for a moment and then laughed, usually a child’s laugh was a bright sound, but there was something eerie about this one.  “Oh!  You can tell him I’m fine.  Maybe he’ll come and stay with us too.  Perhaps you should wait for me in grandpa’s old office.  Kitty finds you distracting.”

“We have to go now, Amalia,” Gilmore insisted.

“I can’t just go,” Amalia protested.  “Kitty says she can’t come and I’m not leaving her.  She’d be lonely.”

“You’re so kind, Amalia,” the cat’s tail twitched.  “I would miss you dearly if you left.”

“That’s not a cat, is it?” Gilmore eyed the creature.

“I’m a cat… really,” it insisted.

“Nothing you say will convince Amalia to go with you,” the cat insisted.  “She loves only me now.  I am her friend while you are just a stranger.”

“She must come with me, her father will just send more,” Gilmore explained.  “Release your power of the girl.”

“I am all but powerless, that mage made sure of that,” the cat’s eyes glowed.  “Amalia’s the only company I’ve had in ages.  It seems we are at an impasse, so let me propose a… compromise.  Release me, mortal, and let me have the girl.  Let’s return to her father and leave this place forever.”

“You want to possess her?”  Gilmore was shocked.

“That’s such a crude way of putting it,” the cat’s tail twitch became more aggressive.  I merely want to see your world through her eyes.  I would also like your mage friend to stop circling my prison.  Is that wrong?”

Sabina continued to circle the pentagram.  “There are two goat heads in here; Wilhelm used blood magic to summon the demon.  It’s a desire demon, which is weaker than a succubus if it has no host.”

“I am stronger than one of those cheap tarts who are just looking for their next drink,” the cat hissed at her.  “They wish they were as half as powerful as a desire demon!”

“You’ll have another problem if you want to possess Amalia,” Sabina revealed.  “Don’t you feel it, Gilmore?”

He blinked.  “I thought it was just the demon I was sensing.”

“Nope,” Sabina finished her little walk.  “Do you think you can easily take control of that body… or corpse?  You’ll be fighting an equal force who is … _just looking for its next drink_.   You have been trapped here for over a decade; do you really think a mere little girl could have gotten past Wilhelm’s defenses?  When were you turned, Amalia?”

The little girl laughed again, this time not bothering to hide her long canines.  “Before that foolish man dragged me down here with the frightened villagers.  He wishes his daughter to be safe so much that he can’t see what is before his eyes.  I was hoping to feed on those frightened villagers once my brethren moved on.  If you’ve come through, I guess they have.  I shall feast on you tonight and move on to them tomorrow.”

“Oh, shit,” the cat’s tail twitching became more agitated.  “She’s the walking dead, no good to me.”

“Why don’t you take the mage’s body?”  The small vampire asked.  “I thought demons liked to possess mages and she’s pretty enough.  You’d probably enjoy the ride.”

“It doesn’t work like that,” the cat looked up and shook her head.  “You blood suckers really are simpletons.  I’ll just wait for the next foolish child who wonders down here.”

“No you won’t,” Sabina conjured a fireball and threw it at Amalia.  She followed it up with a lightning bolt for the demon who was transforming to reveal her true form, that of a desire demon.  She was not as pretty as a succubus, especially with the tail, but wore even less clothes which Sabina supposed some men liked.   The demon tried to strike back at her, but only encountered air as Sabina slid past her and used her powers to light the candles.  Even though the demons spells couldn’t get past the pentagram now.  Her own could.  She called down another bolt and electrocuted the creature.

Meanwhile, Gilmore had taken on the creature that had once been Amalia.  It leapt at him, but was young and inexperienced.  He hit her with his shield, sending her into the wall and stunning her for a moment.  A moment was all he needed.  His sword swung and Amalia’s head flew through the room.  He looked down at the head.  “What do we tell her father?”

“The truth,” Sabina leaned against one of the wooden beams for a moment.  “Part of him must have suspected.”

“Do we take her head as proof?”  He wondered.

“That might be a bit much,” she looked at the head and body, thinking.

 

 

Gilmore and Sabina fought through a trio of shades as they made their way back to Matthias with their grisly burden.

Matthias’ face fell when he saw them.  “You didn’t find her.”

“We found her,” Gilmore closed his eyes.  “She…”

“Had she been acting strange lately?”  Sabina prompted.  “Perhaps she has been sleeping in.  Did she become sensitive to the light?”

“She just had the flu,” Matthias insisted.  “She was going to be fine.”

“She was a vampire; it was how she managed to get past your father’s defenses.  There were shades trapped in those rooms and tunnels,” Gilmore revealed.  He brought forth a stuffed nug he’d found near her and a locket she had been wearing.  “She must have turned a few days ago and was biding her time.  Did you have any pets disappear, perhaps neighbor children who didn’t come home?”

“I thought our neighbors, the Robertsons, had left because of the rumors coming out of Ostagar,” Matthias admitted.  He took the artifacts from Gilmore and sank to the ground.  “No one ever saw them leave, though.  I didn’t…”  He bent his head, letting his tears flow.  “I should have realized when she insisted we remove the Andraste’s grace from around her window.  She said the scent was giving her a headache.”

“We’re sorry for your loss,” Sabina’s words sounded hollow in her own ears.

Matthias just nodded.  “If you still want Shale, the activation word is _Rebecca_.”

“Thank you,” Gilmore nodded.  “Is there anything we can do about…?”

“No,” Matthias shook his head.  “I should go get her body.”

“Didn’t you hear me about the shades?”  Sabina reminded him.

“I’ll be fine,” Matthias assured them.  “Go and take Shale.  Use it to find the creature that killed my daughter and rip his head off.”

“We will,” Gilmore promised and led Sabina back to the surface and to the park where they’d left the golem.  He pointed the control rod again.  “ _Rebecca_!”

Nothing happened at first and then the creature boomed out.  “I am alive!”

“Yes, you are,” Gilmore agreed.

“Did it wake me?”  The golem eyed Gilmore.  “Yes, you found the control rod.  At least you aren’t a mage.  The other one is, though.”

“How did you guess,” Sabina looked down.  “It’s the clothes, isn’t it?”

“It’s the energy patterns it puts out,” the golem stretched.  “So are all of the villagers dead?”

“No, we saved some,” Gilmore assured the creature.

“It did?  Pity?”  Shale sighed.  “I see the control rod, yet I feel… go on.  Order me to do something.”

“Make me a sandwich,” Gilmore ordered.

“And… ah… nothing,” Shale reported.  “I feel nothing.  I feel no compulsion to carry out its command.  I suppose this means the rod is… broken.”

“Well this is interesting,” Gilmore studied the rod.  “Does that mean I’m not getting a sandwich?”

“Hmm, I suppose it means I can’t be commanded,” Shale’s voice picked up a bit.  “I have free will, yes?  It is simply, what shall I do?  I have no memories, beyond watching this village for so long.  I have no purpose… I find myself at a bit of a loss.  There was one annoying boy with curly blonde hair who used to spread birdseed around me to attract those annoying, flapping fowl denizens of despair.  Perhaps I should hunt him down and seek revenge.  What about it?  It must have woken me for some reason, no?  What did it intend to do with me?”

“Sabina and I are fighting a Blight,” Gilmore announced.  “Our land is being overrun by blood sucking fiends from beyond the grave.”

“I suppose I have two options then,” Shale mused.  “I can go with it and its mage companion or go elsewhere.  I do not know anything beyond this village.  I have no idea what is out there.”

“Come with us and make a difference,” Gilmore suggested.

“I will follow it about then, for now,” Shale decided.

“It’s a good thing neither of us are the type who likes to sneak up on their enemy,” Sabina mused.  “Did we just become a team?”

“We just became a team,” Gilmore agreed.  “The horde is moving towards West Hills next, I saw we go help the people evacuate.”  He could also talk to the baron about helping to retake Highever while there.

“Sounds like as good of a plan as any,” Sabina agreed.  “Except that West Hills is between here and Ostagar.  I suspect it has already been taken.  My guess would be that South Reach is the next city in need of help.”

“South Reach it is then,” he conceded.  He could also hit South Reach’s baron up for help.

 

 

Jowan found himself on a dark road, with the mists rising.  He’d escaped Redcliffe and wondered why no one else seemed to be going south from there.  The roads were all but deserted.  He stopped at a crossroad to decide where to head to next.  Edgehall or South Reach.  He needed to avoid Denerim; Loghain would likely kill him if he realized he’d escaped.

“Greetings, stranger,” a small trio had reached the crossroads.  It was two cloaked humans and a golem, an actual golem.  “Don’t you know better than to stop at a crossroads at night?”

“I was… trying to decide my destination,” he admitted lamely. 

“Jowan?”  One of the cloaked figures removed her hood.

“Sabina?  What are you doing here?”  She was one of the last people he expected to see.

“I could ask you the same,” she pointed out.  “Why aren’t you on Kinloch Island?”

“I left the coven,” he admitted.  “Then…”  Well if he couldn’t admit to his friends that he was in trouble, where could he look for help?  “I got in more trouble and now the Countess of Redcliffe wants me dead.”

Sabina made a disgusted noise.  “Come with us; tell us what you did on the way.”

“Where are we going?”  He didn’t want to go back to Redcliffe either.

“South Reach, you’re going to help us save the townsfolk from an approaching vampiric horde.”

“OK,” he docilely followed.

 


	33. She'll Turn us all into Toads!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maeve leads her team into Kinloch Univeristy

The market near Kinloch Island was bustling.  A thick fog had rolled in from the lake, but that didn’t damper anyone’s spirits.  The fishmongers happily sold their catch for the day, while others advertised their pies, fruits, and other edible delights.  There was also various artisans.

            “’Tis disturbing,” Morrigan grumbled.  “There are too many people here.  They’re all milling around each other with no regard for personal space.  Look, that woman just bumped that man and he just smiled.”

            “Yeah, he did,” Balder knew that bump was no accident.

            “Let us keep mov…”  Morrigan began only to be cut off by Leliana.

            “Oh, shoes!  Look at these,” she ran to one of the booths.

            “There should be a cobbler at our destination, as well Leliana,” Maeve pointed out.  She was heading towards a baker’s stall.

            “Pardon, me lady,” the cobbler spoke up.  “But I’m from the island.  Captain Greagoir had his Templars evacuate the island.  Those whose shops were near the shores are the ones who made it out.  We merchants grabbed what goods we could, to continue our trade here until we are allowed back in our shops.”

            “He evacuated the island?” That wasn’t good; Maeve needed to discuss the treaty with the Grand Enchanter.

            “He got those who could out,” the cobbler clarified.  “Those of us who lived or did business near the east part of the lake are the only ones who got off before he had Lieutenant Carroll seize the ferry and now no one can get on or off the lake.”

            “Where is this Lieutenant Carroll now?”  Maeve examined a pair of brown leather ankle boots.  There was brown embroidery on the side. 

            “He’s by the docks,” the cobbler smiled when Leliana began cooing over a pair of blue flats with ribbon and gold embellishments.  “Those are from my Orlesian inspired line.” 

            “Is everything all right?”  Alistair joined them.  He picked up a brown on brown boot with buttons and began examining them.

            “We’d better get our shopping done here,” Maeve told him.  “It seems the Templars tried to evacuate the island and the ferry has stopped running.”

            “We could try swimming it,” he shrugged.  “Sure, Morrigan might drown, but that wouldn’t be a big loss.”

            “There’s a monster that lives in that lake!”  The cobbler’s eyes widened.  “Only the very brave or very foolish swim it.”

            “Do you know why they don’t want anyone on the island?” Alistair pressed.

            “There are rumors that some of the coven were practicing forbidden magic and let something loose,” this came from the seamstress who had set up her tent next to the cobbler’s.  “I still swear that I heard screams coming from the college district.  It was either a very large demon or an army of them.”

            “An army of demons?”  The cobbler snorted.  “Come on, Darcy, no one delved into magic that was that dark.”

            “With our luck they did,” Alistair murmured into Maeve’s ear.

            “Agreed,” she paid for both of the boots they chose, and then took his hand to lead him to the next tent, leaving Leliana to continue to coo over shoes.  “Sometimes I swear I have an enemy who has put a curse on me.”

            “I have just the thing for that,” the jeweler with a stall beside the seamstress beamed, overhearing them.

            “Let me see to the clothing of their bodies before you start protecting their souls, Beatrice,” Darcy tsked the other woman. 

Most of her styles were similar to the mage styled outfit that Cailan had had brought Maeve, the outfit she was wearing when she fought her way to the top of the Tower of Ishal.  “I was going to encourage this type of fashion when I got to Denerim,” Maeve confided to Alistair.  “I didn’t want… well, you knew my choices.  However, I was going to use my new power to affect change.”

“You are changing things,” he assured her.  He was admiring the men’s styles offered.  There was a simple button up black shirt paired with black trousers and a black a copper brocade long coat with a high neck that would stop just before his knees.  “How are our finances, freckles?”

Maeve smiled at him and eyed the outfit appreciatively.  “You know that clothing is a necessity.  The gold would bring out the color of your eyes.”  They had been attacked by five different groups of vampires on their way between Lothering and Kinloch Island.  The vampires had been flush with cash.  They had enough coin to see to their needs and she hoped to be able to trade for more goods when they figured out how to get across the lake.

“What about your friends?”  Darcy pressed.  “I have no doubt that the other redhead can take care of herself, although you might want to stop her from spending all of her money with Jonathan,” she meant the cobbler.  “The dwarf seems to be doing all right,” he’d found a tailor and was considering his options.  Poor Balder had only had two outfits when they’d met up with him in Lothering.  “But the Witch of the Wilds needs to change her style.”

“Morrigan likes her clothes,” Maeve protested.

“I’ve known Witches of the Wild,” Darcy confided.  “She didn’t pack any changes of clothing when she decided to venture into civilizations, did she?”

“What?”  Balder was now behind them.  “Sorry, I came to find Leliana to get her opinion on some clothes and bought her a lovely pair of shoes that she insisted on showing you, Maeve.”

“You’re buying Leliana shoes now, are you?” Alistair gave Balder a punch on the arm.  “You old dog, you.”

“Um… well,” Balder stammered.  “I didn’t leave Orzammar a popper.  I told you I’m an exiled prince.”  So much for poor Balder.

“Look at these,” Leliana held up the embellished and beribboned shoes to Maeve.

“Very nice,” Maeve assured her.  _Good luck fighting the undead in dewy grass in those babies; they’re going to get ruined fast._

“I like the ribbons,” Alistair assured her.

“I’ll be back as soon as I see to my own needs, come Leliana,” he took her hand and dragged her across the way.

“Your friend is buying shoes for one woman and clothes for another?” Darcy raised an eyebrow.  “One of them is going to make him a eunuch when they figure out what he’s doing.”

“One of them?”  Maeve shook her head.  “Try both of them; neither is to be trifled with.”

“He’s trifling with them?”  Alistair hadn’t noticed.

Maeve smiled at his innocence.  “Let’s go find you another outfit, my handsome prince.”

Alistair noticeably paled.  “What did you just call me?”

“It was just a nickname, Alistair,” Maeve was confused as to what had upset him.  “I’ll keep working on it.”

 

After giving into the jeweler who set her up with a triquetra made from gold and diamonds, Maeve and Alistair took care of their food supplies and went to have lunch at the Spoiled Princess.  VanHowling went with them, while Balder finished up his shopping with Morrigan and Leliana.

“Is there a way to get a message to the other Crimson Wardens?” Maeve wondered as she sipped a glass of spiced wine and waited for her fish and chips to arrive.

“Short of leaving Ferelden to seek them out, the only place to send word to would be Weisshaupt Fortress, and that’s thousands of miles away,” he ignored the barmaid who sent a flirtatious look his way as she delivered their plates of food.

“If you could leave Ferelden and go anywhere in Thedas where would it be?”  She bit into one of the fish.  The Spoiled Princess might have subpar alcohol, but the fish was freshly caught.

“I can’t,” he huffed.  “But if I had a choice… Well, Orlais has some beautiful spots, such as the Emerald Graves, but then I’d have to live with the Orlesians.”

Maeve shuddered.  “Not worth it.”

Alistair laughed.  “No, it isn’t.   Dairsmuid in Rivain is said to be quite pretty.  They enjoy a slower pace of life; I would probably like it there.”

“It’s also right on the ocean,” Maeve pointed out.  “I would like to always live somewhere where I can sit and watch the water.  I would also love to have a ship of my own to sail out on and enjoy the ocean on calmer days.”

“You sail?” Alistair was impressed.

“My mother taught me,” she revealed.  “She…” Her heart skipped a beat for a moment.  Could the rumors from Highever be true?  Was she alive?  If she was, she was in eminent danger.

“You mentioned that she used to enjoy life aboard a ship during the Orlesian Oppression,” he recalled.  “I think I’d like to be lost at…”  Alistair stopped mid-sentence as a priest walked in, looking nervously about.

“I think I’m being followed,” the priest told the bartender.

Alistair stood and went to the priest.  “Are you all right?”

“I don’t know,” he confided.  “I’m Brother Genitivi.  I have been on a search for Andraste’s Sacred Blood and Ashes.  My research indicates that it may be in a village in the Frostback Mountains called Haven.  Ever since I found that out, I could swear that I’m being followed.”

Maeve looked around and didn’t see anyone, but she didn’t doubt the old man’s claims.  The fog was still coming off of the lake, but there was a thriving business going on since the ferry was closed and no one could get to the island.  “Do you know who might be following you?”  She asked the old man.

“No,” he confessed.  “I am just doing spiritual research.  It isn’t dangerous.”

“The Countess of Redcliffe is also looking for the relics,” Alistair recalled.

“Would she have me followed?”  Genitivi couldn’t believe that.  “I would be happy to share my research with her if I find it.  After all, Andraste belongs to all of us.”

“Well, she is Orlesian by birth,” Maeve pointed out.  You never know with Orlesians. I’m not sure they understand the concept of sharing.  Tell us about your research.”

“So I’ve found records that her followers took her into the mountains,” Genitivi was finishing up his account.  From the descriptions of the landmarks and towns existing when they made their journey, I have determined that the town of Haven sits where the priests would have gone.  Also, there seems to be record of a temple that already existed in the area.  I believe they converted it into a Temple to Andraste.  I just don’t know how those who were close enough to Andraste, who was from Denerim but died in Tevinter, would have known about the ancient temple that already stood there.”

“What are we discussing and who is our new friend?”  Balder entered the Spoiled Princess with Morrigan and Leliana behind him; the two women were bickering as usual.

“’Tis ridiculous,” Morrigan huffed.  “I shall not wear those just because you think I need to change my fashion.”

“It’s not your fashion, Morrigan,” Leliana chuckled.  “You’ve been wearing the exact same clothes since I met you.  You haven’t even washed them yet.  You need a change of clothes… and a laundress.”

“I can wash my own clothes,” Morrigan sat down at the table, next to Balder.  “I am not a child who does not know how to take care of her own needs.”

“Do you need me to take care of any of those needs?”  Balder wiggled his eyebrows at her.

“Balder!”  Leliana’s face turned red.  She slammed into a chair beside Maeve and glared at the man in question.

Genitivi quietly studied the three newcomers.  Then he took out a notebook and started writing.  “Has your friend by trying to court two women at the same time for long?”  He whispered to Maeve.  “And do the women spend a lot of time in each other’s company?”

“Too much time,” Maeve answered.

“He’s courting them both?” Alistair hadn’t noticed, but when Leliana made a very angry sound from across the table, he realized it was true.

“I even bought you a mirror so you can see how pretty you look in your new clothes,” Balder produced a lovely, silver hand mirror.  It had intricate carvings on the back, handle, and along the frame.

“’Tis lovely,” she caressed it, causing several eyebrows to rise at their table.  “’Tis just like the one my mother broke when I was a child.  Do you remember me telling you about it?”

“Does he by presents for the other woman as well?” Genitivi was still writing in his notebook.

“He does,” Maeve confirmed.  “He bought her a pair of shoes earlier.”

Genitivi quickly wrote down something on a blank page, ripped it out, and handed it to Maeve.  “Here is my address in Denerim.  I would appreciate it if you wrote to me and told me of developments in this interesting triangle.  It is a wonderful study on behavior.”

Maeve took the address.  She knew there would be fall out from Balder’s over flirtations.  Someone might as well benefit it.  Then she noticed Alistair steeling fries from her plate.  When she frowned at him, he held one out for her to bite.

 

After lunch, the group went to have a little talk with Lieutenant Carroll. 

“I’ve never been on a ferry before,” Balder pointed out.  “I didn’t grow up near water.  Can one of you navigate it?”

“I can’t,” Leliana admitted.

“I grew up by the lake,” Alistair assured them.  “I’ll be fine.”

“If not, I grew up by the Waking Sea,” Maeve pointed out.  “I can sail a ship, a ferry is no problem.”

Lieutenant Carroll was sitting on the docks, playing solitaire when they found him.  He slowly stood up.  “Where do you think you’re going?”

“We’re going to Kinloch Island,” Maeve announced.  “We’re taking the ferry.”

“No you’re not,” he crossed his arms.  “I have strict orders not to let anyone cross.”

“’Twould be a shame for you to try and stop us,” Morrigan still wore her Witch of the Wild wear and slowly sauntered to Carroll.  “You have a choice.  You may let us take the ferry or I can turn you into a toad.  I’ve had a filling lunch already, but dinner is in a few hours and I haven’t had a toad stew in oh so long.”  She ran a finger along his jaw.  “I think you would be tasty.”

“I’m a Templar,” he stood strait and defiant.  “I do not fear mages… or even witches.”

“You haven’t met her mother yet,” Alistair muttered.

“You had your chance,” Morrigan murmured.  “ _O magnum Hecaten transmutationem homo infirmus limosa bufo putrescunt. Fiat ei ribbing repercutit, et in tuo nomine._ ”

There was a ribbit and Carroll hopped into the water.

“Oh, I do hope the Calenhad monster doesn’t get him,” Leliana clasped her hands in concern.

“’Twould be no more than he deserves,” she sniffed.  “He’ll transform back when the sun rises.”

“Good,” Maeve was shaking the now pale Alistair by the shoulders.  “Let’s get the horses and get going.”

“She really did turn him into a toad,” Alistair gulped.


	34. Dangerous Education

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maeve's team makes their way slowly through Kinloch University

Maeve expertly guided the ferry to Kinloch Island.  They had only been half a mile away from the docks when a thick fog had sprang up.

“I don’t think the mages want you on their island,” Balder commented.

“Perhaps it’s the Calenhad monster,” Leliana stared apprehensively in what water she could see.  “I’ve heard rumors that it can cause a fog before it attacks.”

“What do you believe the monster is?” Alistair stood behind Maeve as she held the wheel steady, both searching for the lighthouse that had to be on the Island.  Neither was sure it was lit.

“I’ve heard some who think it’s a sea serpent, others claim it is an unusually large squid,” she recalled.  “I’m one of those who thinks it is a dragon.”

“Dragons fly, they don’t live in the water,” Alistair disagreed.

“There are caves down there,” she pointed out.  “Some dragons breath fire, others lightning, and even others breath ice.  Who is to say there isn’t a breed that has an infinity to water?  They were thought extinct for so long, and they are still rare.  All we have are the legends.  Too much of the knowledge about them has been lost.”

“Good point,” he admitted.  “I wonder if it takes virgin sacrifices.”

“I believe we’re the only two in danger on this boat, then,” she grimaced.  “Even VanHowling has had a bitch in his day.  Leliana might have been in a cloister when we met her, but I’m pretty sure she’s no virgin, whatever her story is.”

“We could solve that right now,” he wiggled his eyebrows at her, causing her to giggle.  Then he put a hand on her waist and nuzzled his ear.

She decided to call his bluff.  “OK.  You take your clothes off first.”

“What!”  He turned red and backed up several paces.

“Well, if you want to lesson our chances of being taken by a water dragon who likes virgins, we’ll have to get naked,” she tried to keep a straight face, but couldn’t.

“I’ll… be over here,” he moved to the view port.  “Until the blushing stops.  You’re mean, Freckles.”

He was indeed blushing and she found it adorable.  “Perhaps I should start calling you Rosie.”  Then she took pity on him.  “We’re going to have to deal with the Templars who tried to quarantine the island.  You went to their University.  What more can you tell me about what they might do in a situation like this.”

“We’re not even sure what the situation is,” he reminded her.  “We’ll have to find this Captain Greagoir and ask him.” 

“I hope he tells us the truth,” she continued to carefully navigate the boat through the fog. 

“There it is!”  Alistair pointed. 

“That’s a lighthouse beacon all right,” she grinned at him.  She maneuvered the ship towards Kinloch Island, with an expert hand.

 

 

As Maeve led her group, and their horses, from the ferry onto Kinloch Island it was evident that the fog had permeated all of the isle and that the Templars were on a state of high alert.  They had amassed sandbags and barriers only a few blocks from the pier and were armed with rifles and bows.

“The rifles mean that it isn’t vampires that they’re worried about,” Alistair observed.

“How do they do against demons?”  Maeve wondered.  “The cold steel of the bullets should protect them against any fey.  What are they so afraid of?”

The Templars were obviously terrified.  They tried to keep a cool exterior, but they were wearing military style helmets and several kept putting their hands on the hilt of their swords as if to assure themselves that they were still there.  After navigating around several barriers, they found the man who seemed to be in charge.  The insignias on his uniform indicated he was and he was giving orders to others.

“And I want the perimeter around the university and library guarded at all times,” he was saying.  “Do not let anyone out of the university grounds without my consent.”

“Isn’t that too close to the source of the trouble?”  The Templar’s voice trembled.

“Are my order clear, officer?” He repeated.

“Yes, sir,” the Templar left, going further into the island.

“Greagoir?”  Maeve inquired.

“Yes?”  The man who seemed to be in charge turned to them.  “Now we wait and pray.  Wait… how did you get here?”

“We took the ferry,” Maeve admitted.

“Carroll was under strict orders not to let anyone on the island,” the man, Captain Greagoir, frowned and looked around, probably for Carroll.

“No, we _took_ the ferry,” Maeve repeated.

“We’ll give it back when we’re done,” Balder promised.

“We will?” Leliana was surprised.  She’d left some of her supplies in there.

“No, we won’t,” Alistair informed them.

“We’re going to take it to some of our other destinations,” Maeve confided.  While they were talking on the bridge, she and Alistair had realized that it was the perfect way to get to Redcliffe while avoiding Loghain’s men.  “You’ll have to accommodate the ferryman and get him a new boat.  We commandeered this one.”

“Where is Carroll now?” Greagoir demanded to know.

“I think he is in a better place now, mentally that is, than he was when we first met him,” Alistair commented.  “He seemed so nervous and uptight.  Yet when we left, he was enjoying being near water and was communing with nature.”

“That’s because Morrigan turned him into a toad,” Leliana glared at the witch in question.  She still disapproved of what Morrigan had done.

“He’ll return to normal when the sun rises again,” Morrigan wasn’t worried.

“See, he’ll get better,” Alistair smiled.

Greagoir groaned.  “How did you even navigate to the island?  There is a horrible fog out tonight and the lighthouse is not lit.”

“The lighthouse is lit,” Alistair pointed.  “Unless we’re seeing things.”

Greagoir looked and his mouth dropped open.  “I… no one could have done it.  The Lighthouse Keeper was evacuated to the mainland and the Templars are all busy keeping the possessed mages from escaping.”

“Possessed?” Maeve repeated.

“It started after those who survived the Battle of Ostagar returned,” Greagoir explained.  “Uldred, the High Priest of the Kinloch Coven’s Imbolc Community, didn’t believe that Loghain had the ability to stop the Blight and had no claim on the throne.”

“He was right,” Maeve pointed out.

“Be that as it may,” Greagoir had no wish to argue politics with the woman.  “He decided that he and his followers would take over all of Ferelden and end the Blight themselves.”

“That is easier said than done.  Loghain is a great general and the nobles will follow him if a community of mages are threatening them.  Was he even a chosen one?” Alistair wanted to know.

Greagoir shook his head.  “I’m pretty sure he isn’t.  He turned to dark and forbidden magics to take over the island.  I’m not sure what he did, but half of the mages seem to be possessed.  The Imbolc Community attacked their fellow mages and have killed all those who refused to join them.  The spells he is using…”  Greagoir shuddered.  “I’m sure he’s used blood magic and summoned demons.  I’ve seen dark clouds over the library in the middle of the university during the day time.  I’m sure that is where he is casting from and where his followers are concentrated.  Why _are_ you guys here.”

“We are invoking the ancient treaty between the Crimson Wardens and the mages,” Alistair’s voice held faux cheerfulness.

“There is a Blight on Ferelden, after all,” Maeve’s voice was far less cheerful.

“I am tired of the Crimson Wardens and their ceaseless demands for mages,” Greagoir hissed.

“I don’t see you Templars doing anything to fight the undead,” Maeve lifted her head expertly so her forehead was shielded by her hat, but Greagoir could see the glare of her emerald green eyes.

“’Tis an ancient treaty, it does not matter how you feel about it,” Morrigan pointed out.

“We do have a Blight going on,” Balder added.

VanHowling just growled at him.

“The mages are in no position to help you right now,” Greagoir countered.  “We have a situation here.”

“What do we need to do so the mages will be in a position to help?” Maeve folded her arms, still glaring.

“This is hopeless,” Greagoir insisted.  “I have called for a Rite of No Hope.”  A Rite of No Hope allowed Templars to take whatever means necessary to protect the populace of Thedas.  Usually, it meant wiping out entire communities.  The rites were not given easily.

“Who is even going to grant the Rite?” Leliana wondered.  “You can’t go to the Church.  Most mages don’t even belong to the Chantry, there would be an incident and censorship that the Chantry can not afford if they did.”

“I sent one to Denerim and one to the closest duke, who would be Duke Rendon Howe,” Greagoir explained.

“How is no duke,” Maeve’s glare intensified.  “He is a pretender sitting in the seat of a much better person than him.”

“Who is the rightful Duke of Highever then?” Balder questioned.  He’d heard little of what was happening in Highever as he had been dealing with his own exile.

“Duchess,” Maeve corrected.  “I am.”

“Maeve… Cousland,” Greagoir gulped.  He had stepped into a political shit pile.  “Very well.  What do you propose?”

“I will lead my team to the University Library,” Maeve informed him.  “I will stop Uldred and his followers.  Then I will present the treaty to the High Priest of the entire Kinloch Clan.”

“That would be Irving and he was in the university when the trouble started,” Greagoir’s lips thinned.  “I will call off the Rite if Irving stands before me and tells me the island is safe.”

“Very well,” Maeve scanned the others.  “Morrigan, stay here and make sure he doesn’t try to invoke the Rite of No Hope before I get back.”

“As you wish, my lady,” she looked around.  “Living on an island would have its potential if it weren’t for all of these trappings of civilization.  Look at that shop, they sell musical instruments.  I can see a piano forte, a harp, and a bagpipe in the window.  Who plays such things?”

“I play the piano,” Leliana confided.

“Exactly,” Morrigan snorted.

“I play both the bagpipe and the harp,” Maeve informed her.

“I’ll forget I know that about you,” Morrigan sniffed.

Maeve led the rest away.  She stepped over another row of sandbags.  The Templar behind them just shook his head.

 

 

Kinloch Island boasted a large university for its mages.  There were five college buildings, plus the library.  They were all made from brick and marble.  Gargoyles were interspersed on the buildings, around the grounds and near the edge of the streets.  The creatures stayed solid, for the most part.  Yet Maeve could see some of their eyes glowing.  It seemed the creatures were doing more than the Templars at keeping the possessed mages trapped on the university grounds.

Across from the university grounds, was a smaller library.  An older woman stood outside of the smaller library, to strike at any abominations that made it past the gargoyles.  Maeve recognized her.  She had met that very nosy mage.  “Wynne, is that you?”

Wynne narrowed her eyes at Maeve.  “It’s you.  No, come no further.  Crimson Warden or no, I will strike you down where you stand.  Wait, you never became a Crimson Warden, but your companion is one.”

“What are you doing here?” Maeve slowly approached the woman.

“I am a mage of the Kinloch Coven,” Wynne reminded her.  “More importantly, why are you here?  The Templars would not let just anyone into this Maker Forsaken area.”

“We came seeking the aid of the mages,” Maeve admitted.  “You might remember that there is a Blight going on.  Remember that army of the undead at Ostagar?”

“And you were told that the coven was in no shape to help you,” Wynne deduced.  “So why did the Templars let you past their barrier… or even onto the island for that matter?  Do they plan to attack the university now?”

“No, the Rite of Hopelessness hasn’t arrived,” Maeve assured her.

“So Greagoir thinks the Coven is beyond hope,” the despair in Wynne’s voice was palpable.  “He probably assumes we are all dead.  They have abandoned us to our fate.  But even trapped as we are, we have survived.  If they invoke the Rite, however, we will not be able to stand against them.”

“Apparently there has been a bit of demon summoning, mages have become possessed, and some guy named Uldred plans to take over Ferelden,” Maeve pointed out.  “This has caused Greagoir to become a bit jumpy.”

“I have been watching the university,” Wynne explained.  “The gargoyles have kept any demons, or those possessed by demons, from getting through perimeter of the university.  Together, we can go in and investigate the university.  Once Greagoir see that the island is safe, he can tell those overzealous peacekeepers to back down.  He is not unreasonable.”

“Then let’s get to work,” Maeve faced the university.

“Petra,” she turned to a younger mage.  “Look after the others, I will be back soon.”

“Wynne, are you sure you’re all right?” Petra questioned.  “You were so badly hurt earlier.  Maybe I should come along.”

“The others need you, Petra,” Wynne assured her.  “I will be all right.  Stay with the little ones and keep them safe and calm.  After all, two of those I go with are Chosen Ones.”

“Three,” Balder corrected.

“We’ll get her back to you soon enough,” Alistair agreed.

“Your confidence is refreshing, but you should make sure that it does not blind you to your weaknesses,” Wynne cautioned.  “If you are ready, let us go end this.”

“Preachy much,” Alistair muttered.

“Tell me about it,” Maeve shook her head.  “I had her preaching at me in Ostagar, because she’d heard about Cailan and Duncan’s argument about me.  Just watch, before we get to this Uldred, I’ll get a lecture about me not becoming a Crimson Warden.”

 

 

Maeve led her team through the first of the university’s college buildings.  They encountered several abominations, a demon, and a dozen blood mages.  Each was brought down.  They also saved two dozen unpossessed mages, who had no signs of dabbling in the dark arts and sent them out of the university.  If they were not possessed of a demon, and had not trekked in the dark side, the gargoyles would let them go.

“We should be near Owain’s office,” Wynne commented as she watched Maeve and Alistair dispose of a demon.

“Do you hear singing nearby?” Balder wondered.

“If that’s what you want to call it,” Leliana wrinkled her nose.

Wynne led them to an office that was left in shambles.  There were strange supplies piled up on one side of the room and stacks of books on shelves, they were stacked rather than being put away properly.  Instead of a desk, there was some type of work table.  In the middle of the room was a man in coven style clothing, staring at a bottle on the table.

The man looked at them.  “Please refrain from rifling through the things in here.  It is a mess and I have not yet put things back in their proper place.  It is just not fit to be seen.”

He wasn’t fit to be seen.  If Maeve didn’t know better, she would say the man was Tranquil.  He had a blank stare, but no one had been made Tranquil since the mage’s had broken with the Chantry.

“Why are you still here?”  Maeve studied him.  “Are you possessed, is that what’s wrong?”

“I am not possessed,” the man insisted.  “I tried to leave once, but I encountered the barriers that the Templars had put up and could not get pass them.  If I tried, they likely would have shot me.”  His voice was very calm for being in the predicament he found himself in.

“Owen,” Wynne chastised him.  “You should have said something.  I could have gotten you pass the barriers or at least to the apprentices I was protecting.”

“My office is familiar,” his voice was still eerily even.  “I prefer to be here.  It is where my… experiments are.”

“Have you encountered anyone who is possessed?” Alistair wondered.

“No,” Owen answered.  “I guess I should count myself lucky.  No one has attacked me and no demons have tried to possess me.  I would prefer not to die.  I would prefer if the island returned to the way it was.  I can not even get to my green house, where I grow the special mushrooms I am experimenting with.  Perhaps Niall will succeed and save us all.”

“Who is Niall?” Maeve wondered.  “And what was he trying to do.”

“I do not know,” Owen admitted.  “But he came here and took one of my books of magic.  It was the _Spells of Adralla_.  It included her litany in there.”

“Adralla’s works?” Wynne repeated.  “Is blood magic at work here?  Adralla used to fight against the Cult of Elan Vital, who gloried in using Blood Magic.  Niall was in the meetings that Uldred held with his followers.  He would know.  Blood Magic is among the blackest types.  I was afraid of this.”

“What should we do now?”  Maeve looked back at the others.

“If we find Niall, the _Spells of Adralla_ will give us a fighting chance.  The litany can be used by anyone.  It protects against possession.”

“Perhaps we will speak again if you do not get killed,” Owen picked up two vials and began mixing them in the bottle.  Goodbye.”

“He’s drinking those mixes, isn’t he?” Alistair asked Wynne as he left.

“Yes,” Wynne admitted.  “He used to be a brilliant potion’s master.  Then he began testing new potions on himself.  He was hoping they would give him extra strength and power, but they mostly just fried his mind.”

They checked the rest of the college, but didn’t find Niall.  They did find another group of mages who had obviously been practicing dark magic.  One of them had strange runes that seemed tattooed on her skin.  But when she cast, the runes moved.  They did a poor job of protecting her, though.  She found out when Balder used his large axe to separate her head from the rest of her body.

They moved on to the next college building.  As they did, they watched as a man and woman tried to leave the university grounds.  It seemed they had been dabbling in the dark arts.  Three of the gargoyles came alive and carried them off.

“They really…”  Leliana blinked at them.  “I lived in the Chantry for a year and never saw them come to life before.

“They’re the greatest protection that Orzammar has from the vampires now,” Balder revealed.  “I’ve seen them a few times when vampires have tried to sneak into the city to hunt.  There seems to be a small feud going on between them and the undead.  Once in a while we will lose a gargoyle and have to bring more down from the surface.  We might be the Children of the Stone, but we have no sky and few gargoyles seem willing to move down.  There are some who say it is not only our lack of sky, but that we do not worship the Maker.  There are no holy places to protect.”

“Perhaps they feed on the faith of the people in the places they guard,” Leliana suggested.  “Mages still worship near their university grounds and some may claim that there are those who worship knowledge.  This gives the gargoyles more power.  Perhaps the Deep Roads can be claimed if the dwarfs found faith in something.  Being Children of the Stone and merely worshipping your ancestors is not enough, especially if you do not believe the Stone or those ancestors can save you.”

“You bring up an interesting point,” Balder regretted he could no longer relay the theory to his father.  “We must do something.  The creatures have, on occasion, found their way into the city and hunted there.”

They found more dark mages and possessed mages and Templars both in the next college building.  One was under the sway of a desire demon.  The desire demon tried to reason with them at first and then got the Templar to attack, they were both easily dispatched. 

“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,” Alistair ran the influenced Templar through.  “I hate to kill you, but I must.”

Maeve smiled at the bad poem.  “Has anyone ever told you how charming you are?”

“You think I’m charming?”  He grinned at her.

“I… yes.  Do you think we can get word of what is happening here to the Crimson Wardens who could come and help?”  She quickly changed the subject.

“That’s a good question,” he wanted to hear more about how she found him charming.  “There’s plenty in Orlais, but who knows where they might be found.  But, the nearest Orlesian city is weeks away.  If we go north and cross the sea, there’s bound to be some in the Free Marches.  Again, however, I just don’t know where.  I don’t know anything about Crimson Wardens in other lands.”

“What about headquarters?” she stopped as an abomination lumbered towards them.  She maneuvered behind the creature as Alistair hefted his shield and Leliana drew an arrow.  Wynne cast a healing spell on herself.  Then VanHowling let out a howl and chomped the creatures leg.  As it screamed, Maeve unleased her punisher move, moving both swords in simultaneous attack as Alistair aimed for the neck.  Demons couldn’t possess bodies without a head.  The thing that had once been a mage crumpled to the floor.

“Here in Ferelden there’s our compound in Denerim, at the palace, but that’s it,” Alistair answered Maeve’s question as they continued on.  “Loghain will have control over that and be watching it, no doubt.”

“He has put a price on our head,” Maeve agreed.

“Beyond that, the only place I know of is Weisshaupt Fortress… that’s the headquarters of all Crimson Wardens,” Alistair explained.  “It’s all the way in the Anderfels, a thousand miles from here.  But I’ve no idea how to even contact them.  So unless we find a way to get back the compound in Denerim, I suppose the answer is no… there’s nowhere for us to go.”

“Is that cupboard moving?”  Balder pointed to a wardrobe that seemed to have a slight shake.  He tried to open it, but it was locked.

“I could just put an arrow through it,” Leliana suggested.

“No!”  A voice came from inside.  “Don’t!”  There was some rustling and a man stepped out.  He stretched.  “Oh, ah, yes.”

“What were you doing in there?”  Maeve wondered.  “Are you all right?”

“I have a crick in my back,” he answered.  “And my bum’s gone numb.”  He looked around.  “Oh, Holy Maker, look at this.”  There were now bodies strewn from where Maeve’s group had mowed through them.  “Those demons didn’t know what hit them, did they?  I’m Godwin, mage of the Kinloch Coven, at your service.”

“I’m Maeve,” she introduced herself.  “The cutie is Alistair and this is my dog, VanHowling.  We also have a woman who fights too well to be a nun like she claimed, called Leliana, an exiled prince who goes by Balder, and Wynne who you may or may not know.”  Those in question nodded or raised their hands in greeting.   “How did you end up in the wardrobe?”

“There were _demons_ ,” he said it as if it was a huge announcement.  “Demons everywhere, blocking my exit.  I decided that the best thing to do in that situation was to hide and pray very, very quietly.  I just really want to be somewhere safe.  I think I might stay here for now.  Maybe I’ll go back into my closet for a little while.”

“We’ve killed most of the demons,” Alistair’s voice was proud.  “You could go.”

“And go where?” Godwin questioned.  “The Templars are blocking any exit from the island, or even a path to the beaches.  Those guys are trigger happy.  I don’t trust them in a tense situation like this.  I’m just going to stay here and see what happens.”

“Whatever?” Maeve shook her head.  “It’s your life.”

“Thank you again for saving me.  May we meet again in happier, less life threatening times,” Godwin climbed back into the wardrobe and closed the door.

“That was strange,” Balder commented as they continued along.  “There are whispers of people going crazy from being exposed to the sky for too long.  Is that what happened to him?”

“No,” Maeve assured him.  “He just found himself in a really scary situation and decided that hiding was the answer.”

“Oh,” Balder hefted his axe again, watching half a dozen skeletons shambled towards them.  “This place is a bit ridiculous.”

“This is what happens when you play with dark magic, kids,” Alistair raised his shield as Maeve rushed in and cut the legs of the closest skeleton while VanHowling went for the one behind it. 

“I really hate these creatures,” Leliana commented as she aimed an arrow at one of their heads, it would just go through its chest if she aimed any lower.

“Don’t worry,” Balder cleaved one of the creatures in two.  “I’ll protect you.”  When the creatures were all dead, he looked around.  “Where are we?”

“It’s a small chapel,” Maeve saw the holy symbols and downed statues.  “I think it needs to be blessed again.  Although, while we’re here, let’s see if we can find some holy water, wafers, and other protections.”

As they looked around, Balder found a dark vial.  “What is this?”  He picked it up.  It broke, fracturing.  A large revenant appeared sword in hand.  “I’m sorry I asked.”  The creature pulled him two him, using telekinesis.  Balder blocked the sword with his axe as the others moved into help.  Well the others, except Wynne, who first healed herself and then sent a magical rock fist at the creature.

Maeve swept low, cutting into one of its legs, while Alistair bashed in with his shield from the other side, then the pair both stabbed it in the back while it continued to battle Balder.  He took a nick to the shoulder, which began bleeding profusely.  “I can use a little healing here, Wynne!”

“I have to wait a few more minutes before I can use my healing magic again,” she did set a barrier around Leliana who sent out a series of strafing arrows at the creature, while VanHowling attacked one of its ankles. 

The dog’s bite did the trick and the creature fell, allowing its opponents to remove its head.

“Now I can heal you,” Wynne cast a partial healing potion at him.

“Here,” Maeve thrust three bottles at him.  “I had Morrigan making them while we were on the ferry; we still have a good supply.

“Thanks,” he downed the bottle.  It tasted like earthy cough syrup.  It was gross, but his shoulder healed. 

“Let me look at it,” Leliana stroked his finger down his arm.

“It’s still a bit weak,” he held it out to her.  “Can you do anything for it?  At least kiss it and make it better?”

She did before they continued on.

“Since we now only have one Crimson Warden, what do you think will happen?”  Maeve questioned Alistair.  Can we get you and the Vampire King together for a showdown?”

“I imagine that eventually the Crimson Wardens outside of Ferelden will wonder what’s happened, why there’s no contact from Duncan or someone,” Alistair decided.  “They’ll send someone eventually, though no one knows what Loghain’s people in Denerim will tell them.  Maybe they won’t send anyone.”

“If we can’t stop the undead horde here, they’re going to face a pretty formidable army when it gets to their countries,” Maeve pointed out.

“We could try to contact them,” Alistair mused.  “But that would mean leaving Ferelden… and even if we did, they couldn’t come back with us in time to stop the Blight.  So that means whatever happens… it’s up to us.”

“Most Blights take years to stop, some have been decades long,” she pointed out.  “The last Blight took 12 years to end and it was the shortest one on record.  This one is only a few months old.  I say we write Empress Celene for help and then go to the Free Marches for additional Wardens.  If this thing gets out of Ferelden, they are the ones who have to worry next.”

“That sounds too much like running away,” Balder disagreed.

“If the Crimson Warden thinks it will take too long, I’m sure it would,” Wynne backed Alistair.

Maeve went to kill something, Alistair was being ridiculous and everyone else was listening in on their conversations and weighing in now.

In the third college building, they found High Priest Irving’s office.  There were several interesting items that Maeve decided to take with her.  One was a spell book bound in leather.  The faded gold lettering read _Grimoire de Flemeth._  Morrigan would know what to do with that.  She also found a fey light lantern that could be held, to help them see at night, a painted box, and a magically sustained nursery holding several useful plants.She found no sign of Irving, though.

“He must be with Uldred,” Wynne deduced.  “Uldred is probably using him as a hostage, to maintain control of the island.”

As they exited the building, they encountered a large sloth demon.  A mage lay unconscious at his feet.  “Hello, there,” the demon greeted them.  “Aren’t you tired after going through all of those buildings?  You need some rest.”

“Is that what he’s doing?”  Maeve pointed at the unconscious mage.  “Just taking a nap?”

“Fighting these possessed mages must take so much work,” the demon pointed out.  “You need to sleep.”

“What I need is for you to get out of my way so I can go kick Uldred’s butt,” Maeve responded.  “It’s past lunch time and I’m getting hungry.”

“OK,” Alistair raised his shield.  “We can do this the easy way or the hard way.  Really, there is just the hard way.  We’re talking blood and adult content, it won’t be a story we can tell to our kids.”

“Are you kidding me?”  Maeve countered.  “We aren’t going to have pansy Orlesian kids.  They’ll be tough little Fereldens.  They can handle it.”

“Sleep,” the demon continued.  “You need to sleep.”

“I need to sleep,” Leliana repeated.

“Lel,” Balder shook her shoulders.  “You need to stay awake.  Stay here with me.”

Maeve moved in for an attack, ignoring how drowsy she was becoming.  Then she saw Wynne’s eyes closing, the old mage was wobbling on her feet.  “Stay Awake, damn you!”  She slapped Wynne, hard.  Then she noticed the way everyone else looked at her.  “What?  She was falling asleep.  I’m not going into the Fade after her.”

“Good point,” Alistair swung his sword at the creature as Balder swung down on its head and VanHowling pranced around bumping Leliana and Wynne to keep them awake.  Maeve used a whirlwind maneuver to cut at the creature.  It took five minutes, but the creature, finally, slid to the ground. 

“Just think how much tougher he would be if was had to fight him in the Fade,” Maeve knelt beside the unconscious mage and picked up the spell book that lay beside him.  “His breathing is shallow and his pulse faint.  Wynne, can you travel into the Fade and bring him out?”

“Not without the aid of a great many more mages and lyrium,” Wynne shook her head.  “The land of dreams is not an easy place to navigate and he is in a world created by that sloth demon.”

“This is the _Spell Book_ _of Adralla_ ,” Maeve confirmed.  “Let’s go find Uldred.  He is likely in the library.”

They moved to the building at the center of the university.


	35. Lethal Library

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maeve leads her team into Kinloch's library. They find a prisoner.

There was a large concentration of gargoyles around the library.  The creatures perched on the top and near the doorways.  All of their eyes glowed red.  They sensed plenty of evil around.

Maeve watched them as she went in.  She swore one of them bowed to her.  She turned to Alistair, who had a speck of blood on his cheek.  Without thinking, she reached up and wiped it away gently with her thumb, he smiled down at her.  “You mentioned that you were raised by dogs.  Did that affect anything when you were sent to the Templar private school as a boy?”

“Well, my table manners were a bit lacking, as the dogs rarely sat at a table,” he mused.  “Then again, now that I think of it, my manners weren’t that different than the other Templars.  It’s funny what you dream when you sleep on a hard mattress in an old drafty ruin.  What about you?  Are you having strange dreams?”

“There was the one where we were making crazy, mad love in a tent,” she recalled.  “What is the real story?”

“I… oh.”  He stumbled.  “I think… I completely lost my train of thought… oh, there it is.  Let’s see.  How do I explain this?  I was raised by Earl Eamon until I was ten.  You see, I’m a bastard.  And before you make any smart aleck comments, I mean the fatherless kind.  My mother was a serving girl in Redcliffe castle, or so I’ve been told.  Eamon once told me that she died in childbirth.  The earl wasn’t my father, but he took me in and put a roof over my head.  He was good to me and he didn’t have to be.  I respect the man and I don’t blame him for sending me off to the school, which was an old monastery, once I was old enough.”

“If you’re sure he wasn’t your father, then you do know who your father was,” she deduced.

“I know who I was told was my father.  He’s dead and it isn’t important,” he didn’t want to talk about it.

“Who was he?”  Maeve pressed as she examined some of the books.  She put four of them in her bag.

Alistair didn’t even have a chance to answer before half a dozen dragonlings came out of a side room.  “Who is hatching dragons on an island?”  He fought one of them off.

“Isn’t this illegal?” Maeve glared at Wynne.  “Why does your coven need dragons?”  She dodged one of the creatures and came up swords swinging.  She managed to decapitate the creatures.

“What are these things?” Balder swung his axe, taking out one of the future fire breathers who already had a big bite.

“They’re young dragons,” Wynne explained.  She was struggling to get her staff out of the maw of one of the dragonlings.

Leliana did a backflip onto a table and then knelt to take a shot at another of the young predators.  She hit the one VanHowling was wrestling with.

“You want them for virgin sacrifices, don’t you?” Maeve accused.

“No,” Wynne protested.

“Then why are they here?”  Alistair killed another one.

“We were… experimenting,” Wynne’s excuse even sounded lame to her.

Balder used his axe on the last of the creatures.  “Did the Templars know about this?  Do you have a permit for them?”

“Um…” Wynne checked her staff.  “Permits?  Is that how they do things in Orzammar?  Do the vampires have permits to hunt us?”

“So back to Earl Eamon,” Alistair hoped to distract Maeve from the question about who his father was.  “He eventually married a young woman from Orlais, which caused all sorts of problems between him and the king, because it was soon after the war.  But he loved her.  Anyhow, the new countess resented the rumors that claimed I was the earl’s bastard.  They weren’t true, but you know how people gossip.  Eamon didn’t care, but his countess did.”

“Well, I’ve met Countess Isolde,” Maeve revealed.  “She is an Orlesian bitch.”

“Um… Yes, true,” Alistair agreed.  “Because of her resentment, I was packed up and sent to the nearest Templar school when I was ten.  It was just as well, the countess had already made sure the castle wasn’t a home to me by that point.  She despised me.”

“You were just a child and what she did was awful,” Maeve proclaimed.

“Maybe,” Alistair conceded.  “She felt threatened by my presence, I can see that now.  I can’t say I blame her.  She wondered if the rumors were true herself I bet.”

“That can’t be good for their marriage,” Maeve pointed out.  “Either Eamon is the type to seek out… recreation in beds other than his wife’s or he isn’t.  Getting one bastard child out of sight won’t keep there from being more.”

“I…” he hesitated.  “I’d never thought of that.  That’s between her and Eamon, anyway.  I remember I had an amulet with Andraste’s holy symbol on it.  It was the only thing I had of my mother’s, the only heirloom passed down from her family.  I was so furious at being sent away that I tore it off and threw it at the wall.  It shattered.  It was a stupid thing to do, I don’t know if I was lashing out at her, the earl, or myself.  The earl came to the school a few times to see how I was, but I was stubborn and refused to even talk to him.  I hated it there and blamed him for everything bad in my life… and eventually he just stopped coming.”

“My father never stopped talking to me just because I ignored him,” Maeve recalled.  “I was once furious at him for refusing to let me go to Lady Anne’s house party.  I was thirteen at the time, finally a teenager, and I was sure I could take care of myself.”

“What happened?” Alistair prompted. 

“I…”  She stumbled a moment.  “Maker, I miss him.  He would make sure to say hello to me every day and would come and watch my tutoring, both academic and fighting.  One day, I managed to do a perfect dual strike.  I was so proud and smiled at him.  He…”  She gulped.  “He ran up to me and embraced me, twirling me around like I was still a little four year old child.  Later, we learned that there was a disaster at Lady Anne’s party.  Her security wasn’t good enough and she and some of the guests were… well, let’s just say their actions were bad enough to weaken the holy objects that guarded her estate, _Gable Vert_.  A couple of unseelie fey started the horror the house party faced.  Two babies were carried away and a rather fetching younger son of a baron.  While the parents of that trio were reeling, a Byronic vampire joined the party.  He picked off a few of the teenage girls each night.  They were found naked and with their blood drained.  At that point, the more intelligent of the guests went home.  At the end of the week long planned ‘celebration’, the vampire had a half dozen friends join them.  Those who had remained at _Gable Vert_ were slaughtered.  I hated having to admit that my father was right, although I still swore I could have taken care of myself.”

“What exactly were they doing to weaken those wards?” Balder interrupted.

Maeve’s cheeks pinked.  “Well, to begin with Anne was into…”  She trailed off as she came upon a man about her age who was dressed in a Templar uniform.  He couldn’t be more than twenty.  He had curly dark blonde hair and a noticeable scattering of bruises.  He stood in the middle of a pentagram.  When she tried to get closer, she noticed that a thin barrier jumped up around the pentagram.  A mage had trapped him in there.

“This trick again?”  His voice was strained.  “It won’t work.  I will stay strong…”  He knelt and bowed his head, as if to pray.

“Are you all right in there?”  Maeve slowly walked around the magical prison.  “I think I have the materials to get you out.”

“The boy is exhausted,” Wynne’s voice was soft.  “And this cage… I’ve never seen a pentagram used like this, to trap a human.  Rest easy,” she told the man.  “Help is here.”

“Enough visions,” he demanded.  “If there is any part of you that is still human left… kill me now and stop this game.”

“He’s delirious,” Leliana pouted at him.  “He’s been tortured… and he’s probably been denied food and water.  I can tell.  Here,” she approached him.  “I have a skin of…”

“Don’t touch me!”  The prisoner begged.  “Stay away.”  He now had his hands clasped together.  “Filthy Blood Mages… getting in my head… I will not break… I’d rather die.”

“Calm down,” Maeve ordered.  “You aren’t going to die today.  I’m here to save everyone I can and your dying goes contrary to my plans.”

“Silence!”  The prisoner stood.  “I’ll not listen to anything you say.  Now begone!”

“Excuse me?”  Maeve crossed her arms.  “Is that anyway to talk to your rescuers?”

“You’re still here?”  The prisoner looked around.  “But that’s always worked before.  I close my eyes, but you are still here when I open them.”

“That is how vision works,” Alistair agreed.

“Don’t blame me for not believing you to be real,” the prisoner protested.  “The voices… the images… so real…  Did Greagoir send you?  How… how did you get past all of the demons and abominations?”

“Hi!”  Maeve gave a little curtsy.  “I’m Maeve Cousland and I’m one of the Chosen Ones.  I came to talk to the mages, but found Greagoir leading a bunch of scared officers who were quaking in their boots from merely having to try to keep some demons and abominations on the island, so they didn’t ravage any nearby towns.  Together, with my friends, we have destroyed every demon, abomination, and worker of Blood Magic that we have encountered.  However, I have been unable to find Uldred, the ring leader of this coup turned dark forbidden magic orgy.  When I do find him, I’m going to make him pay for every mage, Templar, and innocent bystander who was killed on his little rampage.  It’s nice to meet you…?”

“Good,” the prisoner still didn’t give her his name.  “Kill Uldred.  Kill them all for what they’ve done.  They caged us like animals… looked for ways to break us.  They bricked Becky up in that wall over there.  And Bryan, they… it’s too horrible…”  He looked at a spot on the floor nearby.  It looked as if the wood planks had been pried up and then put back down.  Evil mages weren’t the best carpenters after all.  “They even turned some into monsters and… there was nothing I could do.”

“Wait!” Alistair’s eyes widened.  “I do know you.  Cullen Rutherford!  We were in school together.  It’s me… Alistair The…”  He glanced over at Maeve.  “Alistair.”

“Yes, I remember,” Cullen nodded.  “We were in the same house.  Help me; we must wipe the taint of this coven off of the face of Thedas.”

“You used to like mages,” Alistair recalled.  “You thought the Templars targeted them.  You said they discriminated against them and were too harsh in their methods when they dealt with mages.”

“Dealing with mages is dangerous,” Cullen pointed out.  “Only they have that much power at their fingertips.  They should be feared.”

“That is a discussion for another time,” Wynne cut him off, her teeth were clenched and she was taking deep breaths.  “Irving and the others who fought Uldred, where are they?”

“They are in the Special Collections room,” Cullen pointed.  “The sounds coming out of there… oh, Maker…”

“Special Collections?”  Maeve frowned.  “They aren’t hurting any of the archives are they?  Some of those books must be rather old… and fragile.”  She would kill Uldred for that alone.

“We must hurry,” Wynne insisted.  “They are in grave danger, I am sure of it.”

“You can’t save them,” Cullen insisted.  “You don’t know what they’ve become.”

“They are still archives that should be preserved and…”  Maeve stopped.  “Oh, you mean the people.  We aren’t going to just kill them all; we only kill the bad ones.”

“They have become surrounded by forbidden magics, including blood magic,” Cullen shuddered.  “They use the essence of life to slither into your mind and corrupt your thoughts.”

“His hatred of mages is so intense,” Alistair shook his head.  “The memory of his friends’ deaths is still fresh in his mind.  I hope the Templar Order can buy him a nice farm or ranch so he can work with his hands, somewhere away from people for a while.”

“You have to kill them all!”  Cullen cried.

“Just stay there until we’re done,” Maeve moved her hand palm down, as if commanding him to stay.  “I’ll take care of the prison once we have all of those who are not dabbling in the dark arts out.  Stay safe.  Here,” she pulled a book out of her pack and slid it to him.  “Some light reading material while you wait.  It will calm you, I hope.”

“I hope you aren’t dooming us all,” Cullen shook his head.  “No one ever listens,” he picked up the book.  It was a comedy.

Maeve led her team up a flight of stairs to the oak doors that had to lead to special collections.


	36. Special Collections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maeve takes on Uldred

The special collections room had shelves of old, dusty books to the side and several locked glass cases.  The tables that had once been in the middle of the room had been pushed aside and strange symbols were drawn on the floor.  The atmosphere in the room had gained moisture and a light mist had sprung up.  Strange shadows glided across the walls and floor. 

There were a dozen or so mages tied up in the middle of the floor.  Their wrists were held together by an eerie glow.  Six others stood around them, in black robes with the hoods up, chanting.  Also in the middle of the unholy chanters, was another figure in black robes.  His hood was down and the robe was open to reveal his nakedness and the cuts on his body, blood flowed down in tiny streams.

“Don’t forget the Litany of Adralla,” Wynne whispered to Maeve.

“You’re the mage,” Maeve hissed back.  “You’re going to read the spell.  You, magic user.  Me, rogue who likes to stab people.  Wait for my signal and then begin chanting.”  She took a step forward and then turned back to Wynne.  “Uldred’s the naked bald guy in the middle, isn’t he?”  She turned to Leliana.  “I need your spare dagger, the silver one.”

Leliana silently handed the dagger over.  Her eyes, though, demanded that Maeve save those who were imprisoned by their former comrades.

“He’s wearing a robe,” Wynne protested.  “But, yes, that’s him.”

Uldred grabbed one of the prisoners.  “You’re next.”

“I don’t want to be possessed by a demon,” the prisoner protested.  “Come on Uldred, just because my group beat you in the chili cook off last year is no reason to do this to me.”

The chanting grew more insistent.

_Veni daemonium de potestate magna_

_Venite, et transform haec mulier, id chilli Baker_

_Turn discipuli eius in uno ex te_

_Mitte ángelis tuis eam in possessionem,_

_Her erit anima tua_

The woman started screaming, struggling against the dark powers trying to claim her.  None of those chanting saw the danger until it was too late.  One of the robed figures fell at Maeve’s feet, as she used the dagger to quickly cut their throat.  She took their place in the circle.  “Yea, possess the goody goody and turn them into a baddy baddy like us.”

The robed figures all turned to her.  “Oh, I’m not a baddy.  Sorry, I forgot,” she drew her swords and cut down the two on either side of her, as Leliana took out a third.  The warriors in her group, including VanHowling jumped into the fray.

Wynne began to recite Adralla’s litany.  “ _Angustos esse spell,_ _Angustos haec canino_ _,_ _Angustos haec canino_ _,_ _Angustos haec canino_ _.  Illos angustos, illos angustos,_ _illos angustos_ _.  Tionem sub illa.  Licisci sunt amentes.  Illos angustos, illos angustos, illos angustos.”_

The mage that VanHowling had gone for threw a fireball at him.  He dodged it and jumped on their back.

“You are throwing fireballs around old books!”  Maeve gasped.  “You heathen!”  She moved to kill him, but VanHowling had already done the job.

“Did you come to join us in our revels?”  Uldred approached Maeve.  “You seem to be the one leading this group of yahoos.  They’re awfully violent, so are you.  There is no need for all of this.”

“Oh there is,” Maeve approached him.  She blocked the spell he tried to throw at her with her crossed swords.  Then she moved behind him and struck out, scoring his hamstring, it sent him to one knee.

“This means you killed my slaves, didn’t you?”  He aimed Maker’s Fist at her, but she’d already moved to his right side.

“They killed a lot of innocent mages and Templars,” she struck again, cutting to the bone in his arm.

“There is no reason to fixate on who killed whom,” his teeth clenched.  “That doesn’t help our relationship.”

“I’m already courting her, you don’t get to have any kind of relationship with her,” Alistair moved in on their fight and pulled on Uldred’s mana.  “He’s not possessed; he has just been using a lot of dark magic.”

“Let’s just get rid of all of this blood he’s been using to fuel his magic then,” Maeve aimed her punisher move at the neck.  His head rolled away, blackening as it left his body.  The blood that poured out steamed and appeared to have tar in it.  “Ugh, what has he been drinking?”  She turned to see that all of the robed figures were now dead.

With the death of Uldred, the mages he had imprisoned seemed to now be free.  They slowly rose to their feet.  “I believe thanks are in order,” an older, bearded man, wheezed.

“We’ll discuss what type of form that thanks will take as soon as we get you to Greagoir,” Maeve put an arm around the old man’s back to steady him.  “He’s going a bit crazy and I think you will help to sooth him.”

“Greagoir had a lot on his mind and sometimes it puts an unhealthy strain on him,” Irving agreed.  He nodded in Wynne’s direction.  “Hello, Wynne did you come to save us?”

“I did,” Wynne smiled, benevolently.

“She just happened to tag along,” Balder whispered to Leliana who nodded and then moved to support Irving.

“Here, let me help,” she slung his arm around her shoulders.  “I miss the time I spent helping others as a lay sister.  Although what we are doing now does benefit all of Thedas.”

As they exited Special Collections, Maeve noticed that the prison holding Cullen had crumpled when the mage or mages who cast it had died.  She looked over at Leliana.  “I hope poor Cullen didn’t need help making it out of the university.”

“We’ll keep an eye out for him,” Alistair promised.

Maeve was thinking more about something Leliana had said when they’d found the imprisoned Templar.  “Leliana, when were you tortured and why?”

“What?” Leliana gave her a blank look.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You said that you could tell Cullen had been tortured and deprived of food and water,” Maeve recalled.  “You aren’t the type to torture others like that, so you were obviously the one who was suffering.  What happened?”

“I trusted someone I shouldn’t have,” was all Leliana would say about it.

“What will you tell me about your life before you became a nun-light?” Maeve prompted.

“Nun-light?” Leliana laughed.  “I like that.  Well, I was born in Ferelden, but grew up in Orlais.  My mother was a Ferelden; however, she worked for an Orlesian noble named Lady Cecile.  When my mother died, Lady Cecile kept me and raised me.  She brought me tutors who taught me to sing, dance, everything a noble woman should learn.”

By the time they reached the Templars sandbag barricade, Maeve and Leliana were discussing the pros and cons of different drawing techniques. 

“Where I was raised, the women of the top castes don’t have time for frivolous hobbies,” Balder declared.  “They are busy learning to protect themselves from the undead.”

“I doubt they have to fear being turned,” Maeve avowed.  “No one would want to live with such boring people forever.”

“That’s for sure,” Leliana bristled and glared at Balder.

“Cullen!”  Alistair saw the Templar being tended to by a medic and two Templars.  “I’m glad you made it out.

“Two gargoyles flew with me until I was found,” he admitted. 

“It gave a few of us a right scare,” one of the Templars confessed.  “We’d only seen the creatures when they were stone.

Maeve turned to Greagoir.  “I have killed all of the demons, abominations, possessed mages, and the rest of the various and sundry unsavory sorts.  I have also brought Irving to you as proof that the island is now safe.  Well, as safe as it has ever been.”

“Hello, Greagoir,” Irving nodded.  “I’m having a rough week, do you mind if I sit down?”

“Now about this treaty we have for the mage’s help with the undead,” Maeve held up a piece of paper.

“Send word when you’re ready,” Irving sat down on a folding wooden chair and closed his eyes.  “The coven will be there to help.”

“I’m going with them now,” Wynne announced.

“You’re a free woman, Wynne,” Irving didn’t open his eyes.  “Go if you want.  Try to come back alive.”

Maeve and Alistair looked at each other.  Neither of them had invited her along.  “We could use a healer,” Maeve admitted.

“Fine,” Alistair agreed.  “She’s going to drive Morrigan crazy, so that’s good.”

“Why do you think she’s going to drive Morrigan crazy?” Maeve probed.

“Now, young lady,” Wynne was addressing Morrigan.  “You need to learn to dress appropriately.  Your clothes are outright scandalous.  What if your mother saw you dressed like this?”

“My mother dressed me like this, you old hag,” Morrigan countered.

Maeve groaned.  “We’ll make sure that if we camp, we put them on opposite sides of the camp.  In taverns, we’ll see how far the tavern keeper can keep them from each other.  I thought Morrigan and Leliana were bad enough.”  She turned to Greagoir.  “Did you let any merchants stay?”

“We have one who will buy from you and has a few items to sale, although he primarily works for the Templars,” Greagoir explained.  “The artisans were all evacuated, though.”

Alistair eyed him for a second and then gripped Maeve’s waist to pull her away a little.  “It’s not looting if we leave payment.  Right?”

“I’m about to sell the guy items we looted off dead bodies in the university,” Maeve admitted.  “I don’t think we have a moral high ground here.  Let’s see what’s in the shops.”


	37. Undead Unions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duncan and Dora navigate the world of vampires.

Tamlen posed in front of Dora and struck a pose.  “How do I look?”

She laughed.  “Who have you been letting dress you?  Are you trying to imitate Urthemiel?” 

“You don’t like it?”  His face fell.  He was dressed in fitted black trousers, a black ruffled shirt, and a black coat.

“You look very dashing,” she assured him.  “I would have liked to see some color on you, though.  Also, I don’t want what’s happened to us to change you.”

“We’re undead creatures of the night now, Dora,” he reminded her.

“I… I’m… still me.  _We’re_ still us,” she reminded him.  “We had no sire, maybe that’s why we’re different.  I can control the hunger long enough to pick my prey.”

“I… can’t,” he admitted.

“Tamlen,” she frowned.  “What happened?”

“Nothing,” he took her hand.  “Let’s go to the hall.  “Urthemiel is holding court again.  Let’s go play nice with the others.”

Dora was still moping, but let him lead her away.  She had found changes of clothes, too, but kept her Dalish style.  Despite the dark colors and low lights of her surroundings, her skirts were still multicolored and her blouse was white.  She still wore the scarves of her people as well.  She was afraid that Tamlen had changed more than she had and was continuing to slip into the ways of the undead.

When they reached the hall, Urthemiel was sitting on his throne and giving orders to his generals.

 

 

“Have Cecilia bring forth the left overs she found waiting for the pyre,” he commanded.

A succubus sauntered forward holding the hand of newly turned Byronic vampire.  “This is him, Your Majesty.”

Urthemiel leaned back, comfortably.  “Do you have a name, fortunate one?”

“Daveth,” he admitted.  “Daveth Potter, my lord.”

“Daveth,” Urthemiel gave him a single nod.  “Welcome to the fold.  You were found in a cluster of bodies waiting for the pyre,” he revealed.  “My people saved you and brought you to your new life.”

“For that I am grateful,” Daveth bowed.

“How did you come to be so close to death?”  Urthemiel already knew the answer.  “The Crimson Wardens didn’t force you to drink some strange brew, did they?”

“It was their Joining, Your Majesty,” Daveth confirmed.

“Bring forth Duncan,” Urthemiel ordered.

“Duncan?”  Daveth’s eyes widened.  “He is here, as well?”

“The former Crimson Recruiter is now one of your brethren,” Urthemiel confirmed.  “I just wanted to let you question him about how you ended up like this.”  He hoped the meeting would end up with an entertaining duel for his court.

After several moments, Duncan walked towards him, escorted by half a dozen of their own undead.  His chin was held high and he kept his gaze on Urthemiel.  “Whatever you want me for is a waste of time, I refuse to help you.”

“Really?”  Urthemiel leaned forward.  He found Duncan’s continued resistance… interesting.  True, he had been a Crimson Warden, but he’d never seen any race of vampire who did not answer to his call.  “Perhaps you’d like to tell Daveth how many of your recruits have died in your Joining.”

“Daveth?”  Duncan turned and saw the recruit he thought had died in the Joining.  “I… I was sure you were dead.”

“Apparently, I wasn’t,” Daveth glared at him.  “What about Jory?”

“He was _definitely_ dead,” Duncan assured him.  “Yes, we do lose Chosen Ones during the Joining.”

“Did you never wonder why?” Urthemiel shook his head and chuckled at the former mortals’ ignorance. 

“Their bodies couldn’t handle the changes,” Duncan explained.

“You’re the Maker’s _Chosen Ones_ ,” Urthemiel sneered.  “You were born to fight us,” he moved a hand to include all those gathered.  The vampires snickered at the thought of anyone fighting them.  “Why should the recipe to enhance your abilities, to make you the perfect Hunters, not always work?”

“I have a feeling you are going to tell us why, so why should I ask the question?” Duncan deduced.

“You are correct, for once,” Urthemiel nodded.  “The recipe was stolen from the First Vampire King by the Chosen Ones.  It was meant for that king’s mate, not all of the Chosen Ones.  However, they were unable to get a physical copy of the recipe out of the Deep Roads and they did not duplicate it exactly when they wrote it down.  They are poisoning every one of their recruits, because of their predecessors’ folly, and tell none of them beforehand.  They have killed more Chosen Ones than any vampire has.  Yet their homicidal tradition has continued for fear of… well, me.”

“Many of us survive,” Duncan reminded him.

“Not without side effects,” Urthemiel countered.  “Your fertility suffers.  Oh, the Crimson Wardens aren’t sterile as some think, but the poison damages them and some of their… fruit and seed.  Some also die younger than they would have otherwise, not that those who fight us could have expected to live to a ripe old age otherwise.”

“Unless you are going to give me the correct recipe to give to the Crimson Wardens, why are you insisting on boring me?”  Duncan took out his reading glasses and began cleaning them.  He realized he didn’t need them anymore, but they were comforting.  “If you do have the recipe, I’d love to take that up to the Crimson Warden and save future Chosen Ones.”

Urthemiel didn’t like the way Duncan was talking; his children should not act so.  What was different about this one?  Maybe he should just kill the Crimson Wardens from now on.  “There are no more Crimson Wardens; none survived the battle at the Ostagar Ruins.  I brought you forth to face your victim.”

“You would have just died on the Battlefield of Ostagar if all of the Crimson Wardens were slain,” Duncan revealed to Daveth.  “The Joining would have been less painful.”

“I remember my eyes rolling up into my head and passing out,” Daveth agreed.  “I guess it was less painful.”

“See,” Duncan turned back to Urthemiel.  “May I go now?”

“I also brought you here to help me find my mate and you will do so,” Urthemiel insisted.

“Have you tried throwing a grand ball for the Chosen Ones?”  Duncan suggested.  “I hear that many women love balls, perhaps a house party.”  He looked around.  “I would suggest someplace above ground, though.  Then again, if she is a dwarf, they hate being under the sky.  I suggest two separate house parties.  Some men and women meet at church.  Perhaps you should try going?”

Urthemiel leaned further forward.  “You will help me.”

“No, I will not,” Duncan put his handkerchief and reading glasses away.  He turned and walked away from the Vampire King.

Urthemiel had better things to do than fight with a former Crimson Warden.  “Bring forth the new recruit from Lothering.”

“Your Highness,” Jonathan, who had been hunting in Lothering when they made a find, bowed.  “I bring forth the newest of your children.  I had a nosferatu change him as you wished.”

“Although he had quite the taste first,” the newly undead’s sire complained.

The creature bowed before him.  “What did you want of me, Your Greatness?”

“My other children found you in a cage in Lothering, is that correct?” Urthemiel prompted.

“Yes,” the newest vampire agreed.  “A reverend mother had ordered me caged and I allowed it.”

“Why?” Urthemiel was curious.

“At the time, I thought I needed to be caged,” he explained.  “I had let my rage and passions get the best of me.  I should not have been so… undisciplined.  In my anger, I destroyed a family.  I slaughtered a farmer, along with his wife and children.  I thought the cage and my death at the hands of those I’d come to investigate a fitting punishment.”

“You should have been rewarded!”  A lamia called out.

“And so he has been,” Urthemiel agreed.  “You did that before you were given the Gift?”

“Yes,” the new nosferatu nodded.

“Nice,” Urthemiel approved.  “I’m excited to see what you can do now that you are one of my children.  Who are you, young one?”

“In my former life I was Sten of the Barrasad,” Sten bowed.

“You are now Sten of the Nosferatu,” Urthemiel informed him.  “I will send you on a hunt this very night.  I want to see what you can do.”

 

 

Dora watched Duncan’s departure.  He’d stood in defiance of the Vampire King.  Like her, he felt no compunction to obey.

“I can’t believe he would act that way towards our king, our god,” Tamlen shook his head.  “Urthemiel is only letting him live because he needs him to find the Mate.  Then he’ll make him pay.”

“Tamlen?”  Dora didn’t like the way he was talking.

“I’m sorry, Dora,” he smiled at her.  “I… I don’t know what is happening to me.”

“Why don’t you go and hunt,” she suggested.  “Perhaps you just need blood.”  She tried to be subtle about how she was watching Duncan go.  She needed to talk to him.

Tamlen nodded and left.  Dora followed Duncan.

 

 

Duncan sat back in his dimly lit cell, his eyes closed.  It felt like a cell, although the door wasn’t locked.  When he realized that he was now one of the undead, he’d considered escaping the Deep Roads and walking into the sunrise.  Yet, something stopped him from embracing his eternity.

“I thought that Crimson Wardens eventually heard the call of the Old Gods and went to the Deep Roads to die, rather than give into that call,” a woman in Dalish dress stood at his doorway.

“That is true,” Duncan confirmed.  “At least I had always thought it was.  Perhaps something in the potion causes us to slowly turn into the undead and that is what we sense.”

“Yet you have no compulsion to obey Urthemiel, do you?”  She walked in.

“No,” he admitted.  “I do not.”

“Neither do I,” she sat on the floor beside him.  “I’m one of the Chosen Ones… or I was before I went through a cursed mirror.”  Dora began to tell him her story.


	38. Great Job Running the Country

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loghain and Howe attempt to scheme, despite both being haunted. They bring in help.

Rendon Howe’s first two weeks in Denerim were rather peaceful.  He had no unholy spirits bothering him in his new estate, that of the Earl of Denerim, although the building had some unusual creeks and moans.  There were already occupants in the dungeon when he’d come in, they were only a few elves who had been causing trouble.

He set about trying to solve his own problems in Highever, as well as his new king’s problems.  He also had a couple of visits with Lady Sophia before she left for the countryside.  She was as conniving and spry as ever.  They really were a good match. 

The Earl of Denerim’s Estate, however, caused more problems than just the three elves being housed.  It needed major renovations.  He was now sitting in the middle of his luxurious study, taping his fingers on a large mahogany desk, waiting for the solution to his and Loghain’s mutual problem to arrive. 

“Um, sir,” one of the workmen came in.  “My lord… um, well…”  He hesitated.  “We’d heard rumors of some of the more… depraved… renovations that the Kendells had made.”

“He’s talking about my new buddies,” Bryce’s ghost strolled into the study.  He didn’t bother coming in through the doorway, but just emerged from a book shelf.  “I’ve been hanging out with them for the last couple of weeks since you are rather dull company.”

“What are you talking about?”  Howe was asking the ghost, but the workman answered.

“He…”  The workman coughed.  “The rumors said that he wanted to make sure that his castle could not easily be taken by a foe.  He decided to use blood and sacrifices to do so.  We have found the body of six elves who were walled up in the castle; they were alive when they were walled up.”

“Oh, their spirits are now tied to this place,” Bryce commented.  “That doesn’t mean that they would do anything to protect the Kendells, or you, though.  They drove Vaughn insane, not that that took much effort.  The boy was always depraved.”

“Thank you, that will be all,” Howe tried to dismiss the workman.

“Do you want us to give them a good, Andrastian funeral, my lord?” The workman suggested.

“I would,” Bryce commented.

“Just get rid of the bodies,” Howe waved him away.

“What about Earl Kendell’s mother?”  The workmen wondered.

“What?” Howe wondered if Kendell had heard of a funeral pyre.

“We found her buried under the dungeons,” the workman sighed.  “One more body and we’re walking.”

“He thought she would keep the prisoners from escaping,” Bryce rolled his eyes.  “She had no interest in doing so, though, and found a way to move on.  His wife is in the treasury, by the way.  I doubt you would know that as you aren’t a good enough rogue to get the door open.”

Howe hadn’t been able to get the door open and didn’t want to hear that he had even more bodies to deal with.  “Just set any skeletons in the back, by the gardens until we can contact the Reverend Mother,” he instructed.  Maybe she could do something about Cousland.  “Just burn any corpses.”

“Without a decent Andrastian funeral, aren’t you worried they will haunt you?” The Workmen wondered.

“They can go haunt any surviving Kendells,” he waved him away.

“My lord,” the butler walked in.  “Your guest has arrived.”

“All the way from Antiva City,” the man’s skin held a natural tan and his hair was shoulder length and white, tied back by a ribbon.  “The Crows have received your cry of help, and hefty payment, and are here to help.”

“Good,” Howe stood.  “We will go see King Loghain immediately.  It is he who has a mission for you.”

 

 

Bryce followed Howe to the castle.  He could have gone there himself, he’d been there plenty of times while alive, but enjoyed how much Rendon Howe was trying to act normal for the Antivan Crow.  Besides, he wanted to know who Loghain and Howe were so scared of that they’d call in the Crows.  Were they still trying to kill Eamon?

As they made their way to the king’s office, he could hear voices.  “Father, I can talk to the Barons for you,” it was his daughter Anora.  “I’m their queen, they’ll listen to me.”

“Right,” Bryce smiled as he recognized King Maric’s voice.  “My son divorced that shrew and married a better woman.  She’s _not_ their queen.”

“Do you really think the Barons are going to listen to Anora,” Bryce’s voice was conversational.  “I wouldn’t.  She was merely married to Cailan.  Perhaps you should remind them of that.  Loghain is too attached to his daughter, have you ever noticed.”

“Don’t worry,” Loghain was embracing Anora, stroking her hair.  “I’ll take care of everything.  The barons are being unreasonable; I’ll bring them into line.”

“Oh sure, they’ll cooperate with the man who killed their king,” Maric sat on Loghain’s desk.  Technically, it was Maric’s as he was the one who had purchased it and brought it into the office over a decade before.  “You were good at leading soldiers, Loghain, not nobles.”

“Your highness,” Howe bowed down before Loghain.

“That’s right, bow to the man who convinced you to betray your own friend,” Bryce taunted him further.  “Bow down to him.  Bow down to the King of Treason, the King of Vermin, the King of Yellow Bellied Fleas Not Fit to Be Scraped From the Bottom of an Orlesian’s Ugly Shoe.”  Howe kept his eyes on the floor, not daring to look in Bryce’s direction.

Maric just shook his head and addressed Loghain.  “Really, this is the best you could do for a sycophant?  You were really scraping the bottom of the barrel, weren’t you?  His father backed the Orlesians and he pretended to fight so he wouldn’t have to fight at River Dane.  You couldn’t get anyone respectable to help you, huh?  Doesn’t your daughter give them _special favors_ in exchange for political backing?”  Both ghosts were amused as Loghain’s face turned red with fury, but he said nothing.  He could do nothing without Anora and Howe thinking he was crazy and shouting at thin air.

“Did you know that your mother once played the flute with him,” Bryce hoped he could get Howe’s face just as red.  “After River Dance, plenty of women were willing to… pleasure… him, but he said he wanted to see what music could come out of an experienced mouth.”

He was rewarded with Howe’s entire head turning purple.  “She would _not…_ ”

“Who would not do what Duke Howe?”  Anora’s brows furrowed.  “Are you all right?  And you father, you look like you’re having trouble breathing.  Should I go get a healer?”

Bryce turned to Maric and bowed.  “Your Majesty, it is a surprise to see you here.”

“I didn’t expect to see you either, Bryce,” he embraced the other ghost.  “Loghain arranged for my son, Cailan, to die on the Battlefield of Ostagar.  I’m not going to let him forget it or give him rest, especially not when he is now trying to kill my other son.”

“Alistair,” Bryce nodded.  “Rendon betrayed me and attempted to wipe the Couslands out.  He has claimed my home and lands as his and is after my daughter.”

“From the sounds of their plotting, our children are together,” Maric observed.  “They were both Chosen Ones.  I know she was Cailan’s widow, technically, but I must say that now that I think about it, she and Alistair would make a lovely pair; especially if they are sitting on the Throne of Ferelden.”

“Agreed,” Bryce nodded.  “I met Alistair a few times, he is a lovely boy, and if you listen to them you’ll notice that they both have strange senses of humor.”

Loghain had yet to answer his daughter.  He was too distracted by hearing only one half of a conversation.  It was bad enough that Maric wouldn’t leave him alone for long; did he really have to talk to thin air and not let Loghain know what the conversation was about.

“Father?”  Anora placed a hand on his cheek.

“I’m all right, Anora,” he assured her.  “Why don’t you take care of the textile merchants?  They are on verge of creating a guild if you do not listen to them about tariffs and Orlesian imports.”

“Have you seen the way she dresses,” Maric tsked.  “That woman knows nothing about textiles.  I guess she does know how to take off her clothes for men who aren’t her husband.”  Bryce laughed as Loghain’s color rose again.

Howe tried not to look towards Bryce’s ghost to figure out what he found so funny.  “My Lord, I have brought a solution to our problem.”  He knocked on the mahogany desk three times and the door opened, letting in the Antivan.

“Zevran Arainai at your service,” he bowed.  “The Antivan Crows send their regards.”

“Ooooh, an Antivan Crow,” Bryce threw his hands up and waved them in mock fear.  “Do you really think even a Crow is going to take out my daughter?  He won’t keep her from one day removing your head from your shoulders, Howe.”

“They really had to call on the Crows to go after our children,” Maric shook his head.  “My son is a Crimson Warden, Loghain, you still don’t get what that means, do you?”

“This is excellent,” Loghain nodded and sat behind his chair.  “Your targets are a Crimson Warden and one of the Chosen ones.”  He drew out copies of the pictures of Alistair and Maeve that he’d been able to procure.

“I’m not afraid of strange birthmarks,” Zevran shrugged.

“Tell him he should be,” Maric ordered Loghain.

“You picked a dumb assassin,” Bryce leaned in so he could speak directly in Howe’s ear.  “Have you told him that she escaped the trap you set for her family?  Perhaps you should mention that she survived Ostagar when few others did.  Maybe you should tell him that if he can’t get her, she’s going to get you.”

“Good,” Loghain couldn’t help but glance in Maric’s direction. 

“Payment has already been sent to the head of your order,” Howe added.  “We are unsure where they are now, but I’ve been assured that that will pose no problem for a Crow.”

“Crows, Ravens, Corbies, they have so many names,” Maric mused.  “Yet none shall be a match for my son.”

“Not with my daughter by his side,” Bryce agreed.  He grinned and then began to sing.  Even in death, his voice was rich and the song brought out his Highever accent.

_As I was walking a' alane,_ __  
I heard twa corbies makin' a mane.  
The tane untae the tither did say,  
Whaur sail we gang and dine the day, O.  
Whaur sail we gang and dine the day?

            Howe twitched, but otherwise said nothing.  Maric nodded and joined in, blending.

_It's in ahint yon auld fail dyke_ __  
I wot there lies a new slain knight;  
And naebody kens that he lies there  
But his hawk and his hound, and his lady fair, O.  
But his hawk and his hound, and his lady fair.

            Now Loghain’s eyes began sliding towards Maric.  He was trying to explain his expectations to Zevran and yet he was becoming distracted.

_His hound is to the hunting gane_ __  
His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl hame,  
His lady ta'en anither mate,  
So we may mak' our dinner swate, O.  
So we may mak' our dinner swate.

            “The last place they were reportedly seen was on the east bank of his hawk and his hound… I mean the east bank of Lake Calenhad.”

            “Are you all right, my lord?” Zevran noticed that both men had become a bit twitchy.

            The two ghosts continued to sing.

_Ye'll sit on his white hause-bane,_ __  
And I'll pike oot his bonny blue e'en  
Wi' ae lock o' his gowden hair  
We'll theek oor nest when it grows bare, O.  
We'll theek oor nest when it grows bare.

            “It’s golden not gowden,” Howe hissed.

            “What is golden?” Zevran wondered.

            Bryce paused his singing.  “The song says gowden.”  He picked up the song, as Maric had continued.

_There's mony a ane for him maks mane_ __  
But nane sail ken whaur he is gane  
O'er his white banes when they are bare  
The wind sail blaw for evermair, O.  
The wind sail blaw for evermair.

            Loghain was so annoyed at the singing that he hadn’t even caught Howe’s slip.  “Something is golden, good Crow?”

            “Only my guarantee, my lord,” Zevran assured him.  “I’ll take care of your little problem.  It will be easy enough.  You will hear from my superiors when the job is done.”

            “Do you contact his superiors to pick up his body?” Maric wondered.

            “You can’t even do your own killing anymore,” Bryce’s hand went through Howe’s head as he tried to smack him upside of it.  “You’re pitiful.  Tell your King of Cowards how pitiful you are now.”

            “I think I need to go get some rest, your majesty,” Howe quickly stood.  Only hearing one of the ghosts laughing at him.

            “Yes, that sounds good,” Loghain agreed.  “However, we should discuss the civil war first.”

            “We are having a civil war?” Howe sat back down.

            “Great job running the country,” Maric snarked.


	39. Flodigarry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maeve's team makes their way towards Redcliffe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Dragon4ge day. In honor, I am posting chapters in all of my DA related fictions.

Greagoir had been determined to get the ferry he’d originally commandeered back to its owner and finally had to come up with a compromise for Maeve.  He had a Templar transport vessel that still had room for their horses below deck, one used by officers, brought to her and she let him take the ferry back to its rightful owner so they could begin ferrying the islanders back to their homes and shops.  She wondered if he realized that her companions were even then looting those shops.

            Maeve maneuvered her new boat south from Kinloch Island, heading for Redcliffe.  Balder decided that the sky wasn’t so bad, not when compared to being on the water.  Wynne spent some time comforting him below decks.  Morrigan leaned over the deck, watching the creatures in the water.  Leliana made sure she was on the opposite side of the boat and she contented herself with sinning ballads to a warbler who had landed on the rail and sat, enjoying the ride.

            VanHowling stood at his mistress' feet as she sailed the boat down the lake.  Alistair was also at her side.  She was teaching him how to pilot the ship.  She had her hands over his as she helped him steer. 

            “You really love being on the water, don’t you,” he observed.

            “I do,” she agreed.  “Highever is next to the Waking Sea and I grew up being able to always see it.  I’ve mentioned my mother used to…”  She recalled the rumors that the _Mistral_ was flying again.  “… She loves to sail and taught me how.   We spent many hours together on the sea.  It is both peaceful and violent, it creates and takes life, and it’s… balanced.  It is nature at its most pure and it pulls you into feeling that you are part of it all, part of a bigger picture.  Besides, it is as much the stuff of life as blood and on a ship, you are safe from the undead as long as you didn’t bring one onboard.”

            “What if one swims up to the ship and boards it?” Alistair pointed out.

            “Surely the mighty Crimson Wardens have told you that they can not,” she looked over her shoulder at him in surprise.  “They are unable to cross running water on their own.  The oceans and seas may appear still at times, but you’ve seen the waves that it creates and the tides.  It is still running water.”

            “I never thought to ask,” he admitted.

            “So much for private Templar education,” she shook her head.

            “The school taught me how to fight, at least,” he defended it.  “I admit that I wasn’t the must studious of their charges, though.  It was too quiet.  Do you know that they made us take religion classes?  They might not be part of the Chantry anymore, but they have had a problem letting their old traditions die.  We had to sit in contemplation and meditate for an hour.  It was horrible.  I used to just scream in the middle of meditation.  Everyone would come running, some with stakes drawn.  I told them I was just checking,” he chuckled at the memory.

            “I thought you said they objected when Duncan took you for the Crimson Wardens,” she recalled.

            “They did,” he affirmed.

            “Why?  It sounds like you were driving the Head Master or Mistress insane,” she wondered what could make them want to keep a disruptive student who was into his studies.

            “You know, I’m not sure,” he admitted.  Although, he had an idea, but didn’t want to discuss _that_ with her.  “I do have a great sword arm.”

            “That is wonderful,” she patted it and smiled when he moved even a little closer.  “Why don’t I…”  She trailed off as Wynne came in.

            “I was just checking on you two kids,” Wynne smiled.  “How far are we from Redcliffe?”

            “We’re still a day and a half out,” Maeve informed her.  “How is Balder?”

            “Sea sick,” Wynne sighed.  “And what are you two up to?  You’re standing awfully close to each other, more than one might think is proper.”

            “She’s teaching me to steer the boat,” Alistair answered.  He still took a step back.

            Maeve glared at Wynne.  “You know I’m a widow, I no longer have to follow the same rules of propriety as a maiden.”  Not even if she was still technically one.  “Why don’t you go enjoy the lake with Leliana or Morrigan?”  The bridge was open enough that they could see both women, each on opposite ends of the deck.

            Wynne assessed each of the two women.  “I may go and join Leliana in a moment.  Morrigan doesn’t seem to wish for company.  Perhaps she is keeping look out for the Lake Calenhad Monster.”

            “Do you believe there is a monster, Wynne?” Alistair was surprised. 

            “Oh, I know there is,” she assured him.

            “You’ve seen it?” Maeve’s jaw dropped.

            “Not personally, but I have taken accounts,” Wynne explained.  “While I was in Ostagar a young Chantry initiate was sacrificed to the creature by her parents.  She had compromised herself with a mage named Jowan who had then been caught using dark magics, namely blood magic.  While it was bad enough that she broke her vows, the scandal that followed because of the use of forbidden magic was horrible.  The entire family was dishonored.  They thought the sacrifice the only way to redeem the rest of them.  They had her taken out into the middle of the lake and left afloat on a raft.  Witnesses say that a great horned serpentine head came out of the water and caught the raft in his jaws.  The girl tumbled into the water and the head went in afterwards.  All accounts put the creature at about 45 feet in length.

            “What about width,” Maeve wanted to know.  Did it look like it could also have wings?”

            “You think it’s a dragon,” Wynne realized.

            “One that can swim and hold its breath for long amounts of time,” Maeve agreed.  “The lake is deep enough to have underground caves.”

            “Either way, it is something to keep an eye out for,” Wynne didn’t like the theory.  It meant the creature could leave the water if it wanted to and begin snatching people off of the islands along the shore of the large lake.

            Maeve turned to Alistair.  “Do you want to try taking the wheel by yourself?”

            “All right,” he grinned.  The grin faded when she began leaving the room.  “Wait, where are you going?  What if I cause us to crash or sink?”

            “I won’t be that far away and you can still see me,” she walked out to Leliana, leaned against the rails, and looked down at the water.  “What do you miss most about home?”

            Leliana looked out towards the shore she couldn’t see.  Then she began to tell her about the entertainments and fashion she missed.

 

 

            They docked on an island called Flodigarry.  It consisted of a large tavern and inn called the Twilight Sojourn a few shops, a large church, and a handful of farms.  It was peaceful.

            The Twilight Sojourn concerned Maeve a bit.  There was the prerequisite cross by the door, but very few protections from the dead otherwise.  When she mentioned this to Alistair, he reminded her that the undead could only get to the island by boat and it wasn’t large enough to be an attractive target.

            The food was rather good.  The tavern keeper happily told them that the food and drink were all locally produced. 

            “I don’t know,” Alistair took a bite of his stew.  “This just doesn’t seem like good Ferelden fare.  Nothing is a grey mush.”

            “I know,” Leliana took another bit of her stew.  “This is actual lamb pea soup.  I can make out the meat and the peas and carrots.”

            Maeve laughed and took a bite of her bread.  “You mentioned that your mother was Ferelden, Leliana.  What did she used to cook for you?”

            “I don’t remember,” Leliana frowned.  “I associate the taste of lemon custard with her.  Although, that isn’t as strong as the memory of her scent.  She kept Andraste’s Grace in her closet, which only grows natively in Ferelden.  I always associate the scent with her.”

            “I have Andraste’s Grace on the boat,” Maeve informed her.  “It’s good for keeping the undead at bay.  I’ll give you some in the morning.”

            “Really?” Leliana’s face lit up.  “I would appreciate that.”

            “I’ll give you flowers whenever you’d like,” Balder offered.  He was drinking mead and picking at his bread.  His stomach was still trying to settle from the day on the lake and he wasn’t looking forward to another one.  He didn’t notice the frown and glare that Morrigan shot at him.

            “We haven’t talked about the fact that you went into the university without me and came back with another magic user,” Morrigan’s voice way icy.  “How did that happen?”

            “I’m not sure how we ended up with any of you,” Alistair grumbled.  “As far as I’m concerned, we can go back to Maeve, VanHowling, and I.”  VanHowling barked in agreement and Alistair snuck him a bite of lamb.

            “I thought you were happy to have me along,” Leliana batted her eyelashes at him.

            “I’m… OK… with it, I guess,” he hedged.

            Maeve excused herself and went out to look over the lake.  She took the ball Sabina had given her and stared into it, watching the lightning as she pondered what their next move after Redcliffe should be.  Loghain was still after them and she was determined to hunt down Howe.  She also wanted to find an excuse to go near Highever and check the situation there.

            Alistair came out and sat beside her.  He stared into the ball as well, finding it enthralling.  “How did you know that vampires can’t swim?”

            “I had very good tutors,” she revealed.  “I also studied history and military strategy at the university.”

            “Do you see anything in the ball?”  He wondered.  “All I see is lightning.”

            “That’s all I see, too,” she admitted.  “Still, it’s fascinating and mesmerizing.”

            “That it is,” he agreed.

            “My best friend growing up, Tara, had the sight,” she revealed.

            “What was it like growing up in Highever as the duke’s daughter?”  His parentage had been a stigma.  He wondered what it would be like to be proud of who your parents were.

            “It was wonderful,” she leaned against him and he slipped his arm around her.

            “Tell me about it,” he prompted.

            She did.  Laying her head on Alistair’s shoulder, while they watched the lightning form different patterns in the ball and against the glass, she related the highs and lows of her life before they met.  The full moon shown down on the couple and the tides of the lake ebbed and waned.

 

 

            Morrigan watched Balder from across the table, considering her options.  The dwarf was handsome and charming.  She had to admit that she liked his company, but she didn’t like how he also flirted with Leliana.

            The dwarf in question didn’t notice the Witch of the Wild’s assessing gaze at first as he listened to Wynne and Leliana discuss the news coming out of Lothering with some of the taverns other handful of patrons.  The word was that there was no more Lothering.  The inhabitants who’d stayed behind had been slaughtered from the undead and now the creatures lived in their homes, boarding the windows up against the sun and using supplies to make their cellars into luxurious habitations.  The creatures were now moving towards Edgehill.

            “Balder,” Morrigan touched his hand.  “Could you walk me up to my room, please?”

            He’d never known the formidable witch to need anything.  “What’s wrong?”

            “This inn has barely any protections on it,” she stroked the hand.  “I just want you to come to my room and… check to make sure I have no unexpected visitors.”

            “I would feel sorry for any undead who would try and jump out of your closet, my dear,” he assured her.  “You’d make them pay for the attempt and wish they’d never risen from their graves.”

            “But you’re one of the Chosen Ones,” she reminded him.  “You could sense if they were there.”

            “Very well,” he stood and held out his arm.  “I’ll be happy to escort you, my lady.”  He didn’t notice the frown Leliana shot at him when they left, nor Morrigan’s triumphant smile.

            They walked slowly to her room, without a word.  She opened the door and he walked in, scanning the surroundings.  The room’s walls and trimmings were a dark wood.  There was a single window, with garnet colored curtains.  In the middle of the room was a canopied, queen sized bed with a garnet bedspread.  A chest and wardrobe sat nearby.  He sensed nothing else.  “It appears that you are safe, my lady,” he assured her.

            She scanned the room and then rubbed her arms.  “It’s so drafty in here.  I’m cold.”

            “I can go down and ask the innkeeper for another blanket,” he offered.

            She sauntered to him and ran her hands up his chest.  “Or you could stay and keep me warm.”

            “I…”  He swallowed, feeling himself growing hard at her touch and suggestion.  “I don’t think that would be proper, my lady.”

            “But I’m not a proper lady,” she sat down on her bed and removed her cowl, revealing large, firm breasts tipped with dark nipples.  “I’m cold and I need you to warm me up.”  She lifted one of her breasts.  “Just look how hard my nipples are.  You wouldn’t leave me like this would you?”

            He was indeed looking at the hardened nipple; he couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from it.  He found he was now rock hard himself.  “I…”

            She slowly removed each boot and then ran her hand along her bedspread.  “You could at least give me a goodnight kiss before making me shiver under this blanket… all alone.”  The black leather pants fell to the floor, she wore nothing beneath.  She moved, so she was now kneeling and ran a hand up her torso.  “Just one kiss.”

            “Just one?”  He slowly walked to her and took her mouth with his.  This kiss was hard and possessive, demanding she open for him.  When she did so, he slipped his tongue in her mouth, letting it explore her dark, warm depths. 

            She spoke when he finally released her mouth.  “I guess just one may not…”  She drew in a sharp breath when he grabbed her and lifted the snowy mound she’d offered before into his mouth, warming it.  His tongue swirled around the taught nipple, eliciting a groan from her.  His left hand lifted and began kneading the other firm globe.  “Balder!”  She tugged at his hair.

            He moved, but didn’t lift his head for another kiss.  Instead, he slowly pecked his way up her chest, her neck, her chin, until he claimed her lips once again.  “I must say that I’m appreciating just how improper you are, my lady,” he murmured when the kiss ended.  He flung her down, so she lay across the bed.  Then he began brushing his lips down her body, from her elegant neck, across her glorious chest, down her stomach to her patch of curls.  He heard her whimper when he parted her glorious legs and kissed the treasure revealed between them, letting his tongue plunder and new warm darkness.  He took his time reveling in her sighs of delight, until it became too much for him.  He could no longer ignore the part of his body that had been demanding he take her since she sat on the bed.

            She protested when he pulled back.  “You’re not done, sir.”

            “No, I’m not, my naughty little witch,” he agreed.  He moved to remove his clothing, but found he was too impatient to bury himself in the sultry temptress.  He pulled down his trousers quickly and gripped her thighs, moving her legs even further apart. She wrapped those shapely legs around him as he brace his left hand beside her and guided himself to her with the right hand, then he thrust himself into her to the hilt.

            “Balder!”  She lifted her hips to meet his thrusts, which were coming fast and hard.  He threw his head back, his neck and back straining with his effort as he continued to pump himself into her as if her were a man possessed.  His hands gripped at her hips as if he could bury himself even further into her. 

            She cried out in her pleasure and then screamed as she came around him.  He continued to drive himself into her until he found release, shaking as he emptied himself in her.  Then he collapsed onto her, both breathing hard.

            “’Tis not the most comfortable way to sleep,” she observed, lightly hitting his back.

            “Sleep?”  He rolled off of her.  “I thought you were too cold to sleep.”

            “You have sufficiently warmed me,” she assured him.  She didn’t tell him that she gloried in the fact that he couldn’t get his clothes off before he had to take her.

            “You might get cold again,” he sat up and removed his shirt.  He supposed there would be hell to pay if Leliana found out about his new nightly activities.  That thought gave him pause, he really did like the redheaded ex-nun, but he also found himself drawn to the sultry witch and didn’t want to leave her bed.  He would just have to make sure she didn’t find out.

            “True,” Morrigan stretched and ran a hand up his bare back.

            “Why don’t you get under the covers,” his boots hit the floor.  “I’ll make sure that you don’t get cold again.”

 

 

            The sounds coming from Morrigan’s room had Maeve frowning at the door as she walked by.  “If she has who I think she does in there, Leliana’s going to kill them.”  Alistair was walking her to her room.

            “You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he shook his head.  “Any man who would rather dip his bugle in the swamp, when he could be wooing the sweet ex-Chantry sister deserves what he gets.”

            “The sweet ex-Chantry sister?” She repeated.  She hadn’t missed the little hints that Leliana had dropped to Alistair, even if he had.  “Are you interested in wooing her?”

            “What?” The shock on his face assured her that he hadn’t been thinking of Leliana in the manner.  “No.  Why… are you jealous?”  A little smile flit across his face.

            “Oh, look, my door,” she leaned in and kissed his cheek.  “Thank you for seeing me to my room.”

            His smile widened.  “It was my pleasure.  I… I still have a couple of bottles of wine in my pack and some cheese and crackers if you want a late night snack.”

            That did sound good, but she thought fondly of the bed and pillows waiting for her.  “I would be asleep before you got the bottle open.  Ask me again tomorrow night.”

            He leaned in and kissed her forehead.  “Sleep well, Freckles.”

            She nodded and slipped into her room.  She set the lightning ball on the table beside the bed and changed into a white nightdress that Alistair had looted for her on Kinloch Island.  He hinted that he had a gift for her that he was saving.  She had one for him as well.  It was a little rune stone she had found, but she was waiting to give it to him in private. 

            Rummaging through her supplies, she also found a white ribbon that she tied around her fiery curls to contain them.  Then she slipped beneath the crimson bedspread that adorned the four poster bed in her room and fell asleep.  As she drifted off, she felt an actual falling sensation.

            She found herself in the ruins of a dwarven Thaig.  She wondered which city it was as she looked around.  Many of the buildings had fallen into ruin, but others still stood.  The streets were lined with lit wrought iron lanterns.  There would be only one reason they were still lit, this was now a vampiric city.  She could feel the inhabitants of the city at the edge of her mind, but they didn’t seem to be able to see her; although some turned their head as if they could sense her presence.  The vampires began to take form around her as she moved towards the center of the city.

            The city center seemed to have been converted into a throne room.  There was a raised dais with a black and crimson throne in the middle.  Around the throne were statues and a fountain with red water, she hoped it was water.  There were wrought iron benches around the fountain and more lanterns.  On the throne sat what appeared to be a man.  He was quite attractive and wore all black.  There was something hypnotizing about his sapphire blue eyes, which were a contrast to his dark, almost black, hair.  She suddenly knew who the man was.  Rather, he wasn’t a man.  This was the Vampire King, Urthemiel.

            He stood and slowly approached her.  His every step conveyed confidence and sensuality.  “Finally.”

            “Finally?”  She raised an eyebrow.  “Were you expecting me?”  She looked down; she was wearing the same clothes she’d fallen asleep in.  “I don’t believe I was expecting to go anywhere tonight, not dressed like this.”

            “You look lovely,” he reached out a hand and gently ran a finger along her cheek.  “It is you, isn’t it?  I’ve been looking for you.  You are the woman I glanced in my ball earlier, the one who was with the seer.”

            This was the Vampire King all right.  Maeve felt her heart accelerate in fear, but refused to show any outward signs of trepidation.  “Well, yes, I’m me and you’re you.  That’s how pronouns work.”

            He laughed lightly.  “So it is.”  He put his hand gently on the back of her head.  “You’re the one person I’ve been looking for; now that you stand before me I know it for sure.”

            “How am I standing before you?”  She didn’t get that.

            “Your body is still in whatever bed you fell asleep in,” he assured her.  “You are one of the Chosen Ones, though, and I was able to summon your essence.  It will make it easier for me to find you in the future.  Although that will be unnecessary if you just come to me.  You can sense where I am, can’t you, my fiery goddess?”

            “If I can, then I’m planning to bring an army down here to destroy you and your minions,” she was matter of fact.

            He laughed again.  “Oh, you are my fiery goddess aren’t you, my mate?”

            “Mate?”  She repeated.  Oh, crap.

            “Together we will bring a new future to Thedas,” he took her hand and led her up to his throne.  “I shall have to have your own throne brought, so you have a place to sit at my right side, where you belong.  You can stay here with me if you’d like until your body is brought to me.  Now that we are together, there is no reason for us to be apart.”  He sat down and pulled her onto his lap, capturing her gaze with his. 

            She tried to look away, but found it much harder to do than she would have thought.  “How can you be sure I’m your fated mate or whatever?  I bet you make that claim to every pretty girl who wonders into your lair.”

            “Our souls speak to each other,” he assured her.  “I knew the moment you came to me.  I’ve been calling, but you were able to resist until now.  I am your destiny, as you are mine, you know this as well.”  He reached out and took the ribbon from her hair.  He buried his hands in her curls and urged her face towards his, frowning when she resisted.

            She could feel the truth of his words.  Yet she was never one to give into fate.  She’d been fighting it since she was born.  She would not quit fighting; she and Alistair had talked of finding their own paths.  Alistair.  She didn’t know why the thought of him gave her power to break the Vampire King’s gaze, but it did.  She suddenly recalled how he’d made her laugh as she they sailed across Lake Calenhad earlier and how she’d been held safe next to him as she just talked to him while gazing at a storm caught in a ball.  She stood.  “I will make my own destiny.”

            “I guess it is my providence to be gifted with a mate who must resist the inevitable.”  He stood as well and took a step forward, she took another step back.  “You wouldn’t be my fiery goddess if you were timid and malleable, would you.  You will tell me where you are, though, so I might send my people out to fetch you to me.”

            She took another step away.  She needed to find a way out of this dream, this nightmare.  She knew that the Vampire King was indeed calling to her through the Fade and had summoned her here, but there must be away to escape; to at least wake up.  “I will not.”

            “Maeve,” a familiar voice called to her.  She turned and saw Duncan standing there.  He was no longer in his Crimson Warden uniform, but it was indeed Duncan.  “Run!”  She ran.  She could feel the king’s minions running after her, as she reached a tunnel leading out of the Thaig, she jerked awake.  She was back in her room in the inn on the small island of Flodigarry. 

            She reached up and smoothed her curls back from her face.  That was when she realized the ribbon she’d tied her hair back with was gone.  She searched the bedclothes, but couldn’t find it.  The Vampire King had stolen her ribbon in her sleep.  It only took her a moment to decide what to do; she was going to the person who had already helped protect her tonight.  She slipped out of her room to Alistair’s and knocked on his door.

            It took several moments before he answered the door.  “What’s wrong, Freckles?  Did you have a nightmare?”

            She nodded as she slipped into the room.  “It wasn’t just a nightmare.  Alistair, the Vampire King…”

            “Did you find yourself in the Deep Roads?” When she nodded, he pulled her into his arms.  “How are you…?  You didn’t go through the Joining.”

            “He’s hunting me,” she confided as she buried her head in his chest.

            “Why would he…?”  He understood the implication and didn’t finish the thought.  No, he wouldn’t even voice the possibility.  “We aren’t going to leave our rooms unprotected again,” he swore.  “No matter how safe we think we are.”  He gently guided her to his bed and pulled back the blue blanket.  “I’ll watch over you tonight.  I promise I’ll be a gentleman.”

            “I know you will,” she slipped into the bed and felt him climb in behind her and pull her into his arms.  “I trust you; you are more powerful than…”  She fell asleep again.  This time she slept soundly as Alistair whispered the Crimson Warden oath, followed by the entire Chant of Light.  His prayers would keep her safe, even if he had to fight the Forces of Fate to do so.


	40. Mate Hunting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Urthemiel sends out his minions to hunt for Maeve.

Urthemiel walked slowly to where Duncan stood.  He wasn’t sure how the former Crimson Warden had done it, but he’d broken the Vampire King’s hold over Maeve.  He’d found his mate and she’d managed to run from him.  Duncan watched him approach, his gaze defiant.  Urthemiel punched him.

Duncan took the punch and didn’t even flinch, although the vampiress in Dalish clothing behind him did.  “Did I upset you?” Duncan kept his voice innocent.

Urthemiel turned to one of his lieutenants.  “Has the Qunari left yet?”

“No, my lord,” the lieutenant answered.  “He is still learning to hunt and how to protect himself from the dangers of the surface.”

“Bring him to me,” the Vampire King demanded.  He didn’t even notice Duncan and his companion slip away.

 

 

“How did you do it?” Dora wanted to know.  “How did you counter the king’s power?”

“I didn’t,” Duncan confided when he was sure no one else could hear him.  “She did that on her own.  I knew she was something special when I met her, but I didn’t know she could do that.  She must be there to face him with Alistair when the time comes.  We need someone to watch over her.”

“Right now it’s just the two of us and we have no idea where she is,” Dora reminded her.

“That is a problem,” Duncan conceded.

 

 

“You wanted to see me, Your Majesty?”  Sten genuflected before his king.

“I have a mission for you all ready,” Urthemiel studied the changes to Sten’s appearance as he ran the white ribbon he’d taken from his beloved through his fingers.  Nosferatu were not the most attractive of vampires.  Sten had been so large and angular before his change that Urthemiel found the new appearance delightfully sinister.  Sten’s ears were even pointier than before and his forehead even more pronounced.  His now bald head emphasized his angles.  “You will take a team and locate a beautiful little spitfire named Maeve Cousland.  She is one of the Chosen Ones, so be careful; but do not hurt her.  For she shall be your queen and for every strand of hair on her head that is hurt, I shall take out in pints of blood from you and your team.”

“How do I begin looking for her?”  Sten wondered.

“She was on an island in Lake Calenhad when I brought her here tonight,” Urthemiel brought the ribbon to his nose and sniffed.  It smelled of rose and vanilla.  That didn’t help him pin down her location or destination, though.  “Try to ascertain where she might be heading.  It has to be one of the lake towns.  We’ve taken Lothering, so it isn’t there.  I sense a Crimson Warden near her and another Chosen One.  Try to ascertain what area around there might help the Crimson Wardens.”

“With pleasure, my lord,” Sten bowed and went to get his team together.

“She will either put a stake through his heart or remove that head from his broad shoulders, Your Majesty,” a honey haired succubus sauntered to the throne.  She wore only an ivory chemise that hung from one shoulder.  “We could get the job done for you.”

“I don’t want you seducing my queen,” Urthemiel grumbled.

“Oh, we won’t even touch your queen,” the succubus assured him.  “Or if we do, it shall only be to carry her beautiful body to you, Your Highness.  She has companions, no?  Strong, virile companions with yummy souls and plenty of energy, I would wager.  Some of those companions might even be less loyal than others.  Some may be… persuaded… to hand her over.  My team can… seduce them… into this,” she indicated an incubus and succubus standing nearby.”

“What is your name, child?” Urthemiel continued to play with the ribbon.

“I am Veronica,” she curtsied.  “I will gladly go with Shawn and Clair to fetch your mate for you.”

Urthemiel crossed his legs and contemplated her for a moment.  “I will allow Sten to continue the hunt I am sending him on, but where brute force might fail, subtlety may win the day.  Go my child.  Take your friends and bring my mate to me.”

 

 

“Dora!”  Tamlen ran into the home he kept with his longtime companion.

“Tamlen?  What has happened?”  She’d only returned to their plush dwelling a few minutes before, but instinct kept her from telling him what she was up to.

“You’ll never believe it, His Greatness is letting me go on a mission,” he hugged her.

“His Greatness?”  She repeated, her arms going around him. 

“I mean the Vampire King,” he explained.  He didn’t even seem to see that he’d fallen under Urthemiel’s powers.  “I am going with the new turn, Sten.  We are going to retrieve the god’s mate for him.”

“You mean Maeve Cousland?”  She had to get to Duncan; perhaps there was a way to let the woman know she was being hunted.  Then again, she probably knew.

“Yes, that is what her mortal parents named her,” he waved that off.  “I don’t know if she’ll keep it after she becomes the Queen Mate.  I’m thinking of changing my name to reflect my new life.”

“Don’t, don’t change,” she pleaded.  She realized she was pleading for more than just his name.  “I… I like Tamlen.”  She meant the Dalish elf who had been her constant companion, friend, and more since they could remember.  “I don’t want you to change it; I don’t want you to go.”

“I’ll write you,” he promised.  “There are ways to still get letter down here,” they were heavily bribing an official in Orzamaar who handed off news to a local network.  “I promise.”

She nodded, her mind busy.  That meant that she and Duncan could keep an eye on those hunting for the Mate, who was purportedly with the last Crimson Warden.  “Do so.  Let me know… let me know that you are all right, tell me everything.”

“I will,” he quickly kissed her and left.

She watched after him, her eyes glistening with a mix of tears and hope.


	41. Choices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maeve's team continues on towards Redcliffe.

Maeve slipped quietly out of Alistair’s room and to her own to bathe and change.  As she lay in the water, her mind kept slipping back to her experience the night before.  She couldn’t call it a nightmare, it was more than that.  She had been _there_ , her still missing ribbon attributed to that.  Somehow her spirit, or astral form, had been summoned to the Vampire King’s side.  She was afraid of it happening again, even though she couldn’t deny that she’d been drawn to the old god.  She supposed if she was his mate, it was inevitable that she’d be attracted to him. 

She dressed in a dark blue leather outfit she’d picked up near Kinloch.  The deep blue looked wonderful against her pale skin.  She looked into a mirror as she made several braids and used them to bind back her hair before putting her large brimmed hat on.  As she manipulated her hair she had another flash from the night before.  It was not the Vampire King she saw this time, but someone else; someone she’d already known.  How did she tell Alistair?

Knowing she should go down and eat breakfast before continuing on to Redcliffe, she instead looked out her window at the large lake, wondering if she should broach the delicate topic with the man she had grown to care about very much.  She wondered when it had happened, but there was no denying she had feelings for him.  He was funny and brave.  His smile was infectious and his heart was pure.

There was a soft knock on her door.  “Come in,” she turned and saw the man in question slip into her room.

“I was wondering if you were ready to head downstairs,” he admitted.

“I am,” she confirmed.  “I was just thinking.”

“Oh, about what?”  He smiled.  “Was it about me?”

“Actually, yes,” she admitted.

“Really?”  His cheeks pinked.

She had to tell him.  “Alistair,” she hesitated a moment.  “The ribbon I had in my hair when I first went to bed and that I still had in my hair when I traveled to the Deep Roads is gone.”

“You don’t have to talk about that,” he moved to stand beside her in the window.  He took her hands and led her to a seat beneath it.  “I… I know what… well I think… it doesn’t matter if you are that monster’s destined mate or not.  We agreed we are going to make our own destinies.  I’m not going to let anybody hurt you just to stop what could be.”

She looked down at their joined hands.  “Have I ever told you how thankful I am that it is you by my side during this?  I wouldn’t want anyone else.”

“I feel the same way,” he assured her.

“Yet I still don’t know how you are going to react to part of what happened to me last night,” her voice grew quieter.

“You didn’t… I don’t care what you did with the Vampire King, you were under his thrall,” he decided.

“What?  No!”  Her voice grew louder.  “I mean, yes, there was thrall there for a bit, but I managed to break it.”  He opened his mouth to ask how she’d done it, but she shook her head.  “When I did, a man yelled at me to run.  I ran and that’s how I woke back up, how I escaped.  Alistair, I recognized the man.  He was a Crimson Warden who was likely captured at Ostagar and turned.”

“Was it someone I might have known?”  His heart broke for any of his companions who met such a fate.

She drew in a deep breath and then plowed ahead.  “It was Duncan.”

 

 

Maeve and Alistair didn’t say anything as they walked into the inn’s dining room.  Maeve’s hand rested in the crook of Alistair’s elbow and the pair looked at each other every once in a while, but Alistair still contemplated Maeve’s news.  The man who had been more of a father to him than his own sire was now one of the undead and it would be suicide to even try and find him. 

What would they do if they did find him?  That was a question that hung between them.  He’d shouted for Maeve to run, part of him was obviously still Duncan. 

It was Maeve who spoke first.  “We can take an extra day here if you’d like.”

“No, I’d rather work on finding a way to kill the Vampire King,” he now had one more reason to kill the now vampiric old god.

“Would you like to eat breakfast with our friends?” She nodded her head towards where Leliana and Wynne were enjoying eggs and toast.  “Being around them might help improve both of our moods.”

“I…”  He paused to consider.

As he was considering, Balder joined the two women at their table.  Leliana carefully set down her glass of orange juice and stared balefully at the dwarf.  “Did you think I wouldn’t know?”

“Know what?”  His brows furrowed in confusion.

“You were with her last night,” Leliana’s eyes gleamed as she made her accusation.  “Did you think I wouldn’t hear you?”

“I don’t know what you heard,” he denied.  “Perhaps it was the wild animals or strange sea birds.  There seem to be a lot of animals that like to live by the water.  I’m still trying to get used to them and there are even stranger ones at night.   I’ve never known that some animals live under the open sky, but wait until the sun goes down to come out of their burrows.”

“Oh, perhaps,” Leliana conceded. 

“Where did you hear those sounds?”  He pressed.

“They seemed to be coming from Morrigan’s room,” Leliana leaned back and folded her arms.

“She was probably studying the creatures to learn how to change into them,” Balder suggested.  “She will probably surprise us with a bat form soon.  Or she could have just been having a nightmare.  I’m stunned that you thought I could be in there with her, when I’m courting you.”

“I guess I should apologize,” Leliana uncrossed her arms and picked up her fork.

“There is no need,” Balder lifted her free hand and brought it to his lips.

“Let’s sit by ourselves,” Alistair suggested, Maeve’s hand had tightened to the point that he could feel her nails pressing through his shirt and coat.  He felt like punching the dwarf himself.  He led her to a table and they both also ordered the eggs and toast, along with glasses of juice. 

“Too bad they don’t carry Antivan coffee here,” Maeve yawned.  “I could use some.”

Alistair looked over at the other table.  “Maybe we were wrong about what we heard last night.”  Then he watched Morrigan saunter over to their friends.  She had a smug satisfied look on her face.  “Maybe we weren’t.  It isn’t like I know what _that_ sounds like.”

She was pleasantly surprised.  “You mean you’ve never...”  She could feel the blush creeping onto her face.

“Never what?”  His voice became playful, he was delighted by the blush he saw.

“You know,” she was definitely blushing now.

“Do I?  Have I never what?  Have I never seen a basilisk?  Ate jellied ham?  Have I never licked a lamppost in winter?”  He teased.

“Now you’re making fun of me,” she accused.

“Make fun of you, dear lady?  Perish the thought.  Well, tell me, have you ever licked a lamppost in winter?”  The way he said _licked a lamppost in winter_ made her giggle.  He definitely made it sound risqué.

“You know I haven’t,” she reminded him.  “You are the _only_ person who knows that I haven’t.  I’m a virgin widow.”

“I myself have never done it… that.  Not that I haven’t thought about it, of course, but… you know.”

“You also were shaking like a leaf, while hundreds of soldiers pressed their ears to the tent you were sleeping in?”  She teased.

“There was my schooling and then the Crimson Wardens,” he explained.  “Besides, I was taught to be a gentleman, especially in the presence of beautiful women such as yourself.  That’s not so bad is it?”

“You think I’m beautiful?”  That’s what she’d gotten from his statement.

“Of course you are, and you know it,” he declared.  “You’re ravishing, resourceful, and all those other things you’d probably hurt me for not saying.”

“I’d never hurt you,” she swore.

“Nor I you,” he vowed.  He stuffed a piece of toast into his mouth.

 

 

The rest of the trip to Redcliffe was relatively quiet.  The sky was overcast and the water gently waved.  The horses were reloaded onto the ferry and Maeve once again took the wheel.  Alistair wound Andraste and crystal grace around the railings and drew a large chalk cross on the deck of the ship.  He then followed the lines of the cross with holy water and consecrated oil.  When he was done, he returned to Maeve’s side.  He didn’t speak, but looked out on the horizon.

Maeve was glad for his company.  He seemed to be a silent sentry by her side, daring anyone to try and harm her.  VanHowling laid in a ball, sound asleep, at her other side.  Leliana and Morrigan were once again on opposite sides of the deck.  As she watched Wynne walked towards Leliana.  The healer had been with Balder, who was once again suffering from seasickness.  The two women talked for a bit, and then Wynne pulled out knitting needles and a ball of yarn.

Leliana sat beside her and produced a piece of cloth she was embroidering.  The women looked out at the lake as they worked.  It took some time to realize that Morrigan had disappeared. 

“Shit, take the wheel for me,” Maeve moved off on the deck and went to Wynne.  “I need you to check on Balder.  I have a bad feeling and if I’m right, we could have an incident on our hands soon.  She motioned her head to the spot where Morrigan had been standing before.

“He’s a prince, you would think he knows better,” Wynne protested, but she slipped below deck.

“Isn’t the dwarf green right now and unable to hold down food?” Alistair inquired as Maeve rejoined him. 

“Yes,” she confirmed.  “Do you really think Morrigan went down there to hold his hand and comfort him?”

“She doesn’t have a comforting bone in her body,” Alistair muttered.  “Perhaps it would be best if Leliana caught them together.  I know,” he held up a hand.  “Duncan used to say that a warrior whose anger is focused on their allies, instead of their enemies, is a hindrance not an asset.”

“Do you want to talk about him?” She offered.

He shook his head.  “I miss him.  I keep thinking that if I’d been on the battlefield, I could have saved him.”

“The only Crimson Wardens who made it off that battlefield did so as prisoners of the undead,” Maeve pointed out.  “You’re a formidable warrior, but you would likely have been killed, too, and Duncan would still now be one of the unholy.”

“Have you ever lost anyone you loved?”  He looked for a way to express his pain.

“My entire family was slaughtered by Earl Rendon Howe’s forces not long ago,” she reminded him.

He silently cursed himself, he was so wrapped up in his own pain that he’d forgotten hers.  “I’m sorry.  I’m such a cad.  I don’t know how I could have asked that, I wasn’t thinking.”

“When this is over, we should go to Highever,” she suggested.  “Duncan was from there, too.  I know he mentioned it to me.  Once I get rid of Howe, we can build memorials for all of them.  It could read _In memory of General Duncan, the Crimson Warrior who stood against impossible odds and gave his life for every person in Thedas._   We could mention him becoming a vampire if you like.”

“Let’s not,” he urged.  “I mean let’s not mention the vampire part.  I would love to go to Highever with you when this is all over.”

 

Wynne walked quietly down the stairs of the ship.  The Templar Transport had a small medical room, where she’d stored the seasick dwarf.

“Are you feeling better now?”  She could hear Morrigan before she saw her.

“This does seem to help,” Balder did sound a bit better.

Wynne walked in to see Morrigan sitting on top of Balder, her legs on either side of him.  She was wearing one of the more modest outfits that she had to concede to wearing as they didn’t do laundry every night.  She still had her bodice half open and was tracing little kisses along Balder’s jaw.  “Oh, look, Leliana, Balder’s feeling better.  At least his arbor vitae is.”  Indeed, Balder’s excitement was evident through his trousers.

Balder sat up quickly, literally tossing Morrigan off of him.  Morrigan glared at her lover.  “Wynne, you startled me.”

“What if Leliana had been with me?”  Wynne demanded.  She was not happy about the heartbreak that sweet girl was going to go through when she realized what type of man her suitor was.  “You either tell her what is going on between the two of you or you stop this immediately.”

“It is none of that simpering milkmaid’s business what is going on between us,” Morrigan glared at Balder.  “Why would it be?  I don’t share.”

“Why don’t you go bother Alistair while I talk to Balder,” Wynne’s voice was saccharine sweet.  “I believe he is bemoaning Duncan again.  You might also see what you can do for Maeve.  She asked me before about keeping the Vampire King out of her dreams.”

“What?”  Morrigan shot to her feet, fixing her bodice.  “He is intruding on her dreams?”

“She hasn’t come out and admitted it, but from what she said, it sounds like he summoned her astral self to him,” Wynne explained.  “She doesn’t realize I was awake last night when she went running to Alistair after it happened.”

“She went running to the idiot instead of me?”  Morrigan ran up the stairs.

“Now, Balder,” Wynne sat down beside him.  “Which woman do you actually want or are you just playing with them both?”

“Is it wrong if I just like women?”  He shrugged.

Wynne smacked him upside the head.  “Yes.  Let’s have a talk about respect that I suspect many princes don’t get while growing up.”

 

 

Balder stayed below decks and away from both women the rest of the day.  They stayed on the transport boat that night.  Morrigan even went back over Alistair’s protections.

Maeve watched her and smiled.  “Do you think she actually likes me?”  She wondered to Leliana.  The two women lay on blankets on the deck and were gazing at the stars, or were when Maeve wasn’t watching Morrigan.  She had set anchor and let the boat gently lull in the waves.  Alistair was walking VanHowling around the deck and Wynne was knitting.  They were only five miles from Redcliffe.

“I don’t think she actually likes anyone,” Leliana confided.  “Do you know that she came up to me today and told me, quite firmly, to stay away from her stuff?  I never touched her things.”

Maeve suspected that Morrigan had touched Balder’s thing.  “She’s an odd duck.  At least someone got her into a change of clothes finally.”

“I suspect she realized her one outfit was beginning to smell,” Leliana smirked.  She looked over at Maeve.  “Have I told you how much I like your hair?”

“My hair?”  Maeve touched a strand.  She’d removed her hat and her curls tumbled around her face and neck, the rest was confined by braids.

“Your curls are so charming and I love the color,” Leliana commented.  “I never know what to do with mine.”

“I thought straight hair was easier to deal with,” Maeve admired the single long braid the other woman had it in.  “How did a woman like you end up in the cloister?”

“A woman like me?” Leliana batted her eyelashes.  “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You mentioned Lady Cecile teaching you the skills of a lady and you have a beautiful singing voice,” Maeve pointed out.  “You could work as a singer.”

“I used to,” Leliana admitted. 

“Really?” Maeve grinned at her.  “Tell me about it.”                           


	42. Joining Forces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sabina's team gets more allies

Zevran found that tracking down his target was going to be harder than he thought.  He was used to finding people; it was part of his job.  How could you kill them if you couldn’t even find them?  He followed reports of their whereabouts.  They had obviously left Lothering as the city had been completely overrun.  He then stalked them to Lake Calenhad.  The trail ran cold near Kinloch Island.  It seemed they were trying to recover from some uprising involving dark magic and demons and had no time to talk to him.

Then he heard that the Vampiric Horde was moving against South Reach.  There were reports of two Chosen Ones and a mage fighting the undead nearby.  They sounded exactly like his prey.  He had briefly wondered what had happened to the nun he’d heard about and then decided that she likely died.

He would have to hire help to trap them after he confirmed who they were.  Finding amateur assassins was never a problem when he traveled.

 

 

South Reach seemed slightly better off than Honnleath had when Sir Gilmore and Sabina arrived.  The townsfolk were evacuating, but they were doing so in a more orderly manner.  Those who lived in the farms surrounding the town had been brought into its gates and the town’s holy symbols should protect them for now.

Sabina looked over the inner and outer wall defenses as she walked through the town.  “How long do you think they can hold out?”

“Their defenses aren’t as strong as what we had in Highever,” Gilmore considered.  “They’re still good, but I imagine that Lothering’s were as well.  I would give them a week at best.”

“We’ll go to the earl and offer to help him evacuate everyone in daylight,” Sabina decided.  “Meantime, we should pick up some supplies.  That means the market and the chantry.”

“I’ll go to the chantry,” Jowan volunteered.  He’d been quietly walking behind the two Chosen Ones.  Shale was behind him, her steps were decidedly less quiet, but she said nothing.

“The last thing we need is for you to fall in love with another initiate,” Sabina grumbled.  “We have time, we’ll go together.”

“Except when we meet with the earl,” Gilmore amended.  “Countess Isolde apparently doesn’t know you’re missing, but I don’t know if word from Kinloch had reached down here.”

“Even if it did, they wouldn’t recognize me,” Jowan assured him.  “Still, I think I might leave the country once this Blight is over.”

“Until then, you are going to make amends with the Maker by helping us against the undead,” Sabina insisted.  “Let’s find an inn and get some rooms for our stay, with all of the refugees around, it’s going to be slim pickings.”

 

They finally found rooms at _The Monk_ , but Gilmore and Jory had to double up.  Shale was staying in the stables.  She claimed it was to guard their horses against thieves and nasty creatures of the night.

“I am not sleeping on the floor,” Jory insisted as the two men looked at the queen sized bed.

“Yes, you are,” Gilmore insisted.   “It’s either that or you’re sleeping outside.”  His other thought was to have Sabina trade rooms with Jory, but he didn’t think she’d go for that.  She might be a mage, but she was a lady; a lady he was greatly enjoying traveling with.  She was smart, brave, powerful…

“Are you even listening to me?”  Jory interrupted his thoughts. 

“What?” Gilmore blinked at him.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but I wanted to discuss something in private with Sir Gilmore,” Sabina was now standing in the door way and neither man had heard her come in.  “Do you mind going on a little walk with me?  We won’t be long.”

“Of course he doesn’t,” Gilmore offered her his arm.

They walked out of the inn together.  Twilight was approaching and clouds were moving in.  It was going to be a dark night, but the cities defenses should keep those inside its walls safe.  Gilmore nodded at an approaching couple as they meandered down the street, watching as the lanterns were lit.  “Is anything wrong?”  He noted that her hair seemed to gleam, its brightness a beacon of light in the approaching dark.  

“What was your relationship with Maeve Cousland?”  She wondered.

“Maeve?”  Gilmore thought about it.  “I admit that I was attracted to her, but we never had anything serious between us.  She was being courted by the king.  I wonder what happened with that.”

“She married him and he was killed the next day,” Sabina enlightened him.  “I was there for both events.”

“They did marry?”  Gilmore was surprised.  Why hadn’t she gone to Ostagar with Fergus then?  “She… I wasn’t even sure she made it out of the castle.  She’s the rightful queen of Ferelden then.”

“She’s the king’s widow,” Sabina pointed out.  “The rightful king or queen would be whoever is next in the Theirin line.  I suppose the Barony will have to trace the family tree, unless they want to put another noble on the throne.  Loghain thinks it should be his.”

“Loghain is a war hero, but the king made him a duke.  His father was a farmer,” Gilmore revealed.  “He may not have the backing to hold his position.  That’s why there is a civil war going on.  If Bryce Cousland, the Duke of Highever were alive, he would be the obvious choice of successor if no close relative of King Maric is to be found.”

“I have reason to believe Maeve was in eminent danger last night,” she revealed, but didn’t tell him how.

“We’re all in danger,” he countered.  “The undead are overrunning Ferelden.  At least I have a smart, brave, and beautiful woman to fight them at my side.”

“You think I’m beautiful?” She blushed.

“Very,” he lifted her hand and kissed it.

“Dang!”  They turned to see an Antivan elf; he looked and sounded Antivan at least, watching them.

“Can we help you?” Sabina studied the elf who had tried to blend back into the shadows, but hadn’t been fast enough.

“You two aren’t both Chosen Ones, are you?” He inquired.  “I ask only because you look formidable and I would like to know if I’m safe in this city.”

“We are Chosen Ones,” Gilmore confirmed.  “But this city is far from safe.”

“It is if a fine Crimson Warden like yourself is nearby,” the elf insisted.

“We’re not Crimson Wardens,” Sabina assured him.  “We are just doing our part as Chosen Ones to help our countrymen.  If you’ll excuse us, we need to get back to our companion.”  She pulled Gilmore along the sidewalk.

“Oh, my apologies,” the elf stepped back into the shadows.

Sabina walked a little bit more and then glanced back.  The elf had managed to disappear.  Dang it, she knew something was off.  Her mage instincts, as she called them, were screaming at her.  “I don’t trust that man.”

“He did seem a bit strange,” Gilmore agreed.  “Let’s go check on Jowan.  I want to make sure he wasn’t a bounty hunter.”

Sabina nodded and they headed back towards _The Monk._

 

Zevran knew they didn’t look anything like the picture he’d been given.  It was why he wanted a closer look at them and had taken the risk to be seen.  There was a rumor of two more Chosen One in the city, but he had also heard they were elves.  They definitely weren’t Theirin and Cousland.  How was that pair avoiding him?  No wonder that King Loghain feared them so much.  They were so elusive, only a great predator like him did not need to worry about them swooping down upon him.

 

 

Jowan had hoped to get some time alone, with some peace and quiet.  He was a bit tired of feeling like a third wheel.  Sabina and the Highever knight kept giving each other googly eyes when they thought no one was looking.  It was a bit unfair when he was still suffering the heartbreak of Lily's death.  However, peace and quiet wasn’t what he was getting.    

“The innkeeper says _The Monk_ is full!”  A burly human with a big bushy beard learned on a table where a pair of elves tried to eat in peace.

“Look,” the blonde, male, elf held up a hand.  “We don’t want trouble.  I’m sorry that you will have to find another inn, but that is not my fault.”

“You have a room here, don’t you?”  The bearded fellow knocked the table.  “You will just give us yours.”

“You tell him, Dustin,” a woman with greasy hair and only half her teeth encouraged him on.

“Let me take care of this, Helen,” Dustin turned back to the two elves.  “You’ll just have to give us your rooms.”

“Look, Shem,” the redheaded, female, elf stood.  “You are interrupting my dinner and spilled some of my drink.  If you leave quietly now, I will sit back down and finish.  If you continue to try to intimidate my cousin or myself, you will wake up in the coma I will be putting you in.  I will then make your girlfriend even uglier, a feat you surely thought only the Maker could accomplish.”

“That shows what you know,” Dustin stood up strait and balled his fists.  “That isn’t my girlfriend.”

“Is she your sister?” the male elf asked.

“She’s my wife!”  Dustin declared.

“Is she your sister, too?” The female elf wondered.  “You married her because you knew no one else ever would and she was the only woman who would let you touch her?”

“Don’t let her talk about me that was, Dusty-boo,” Helen objected.

“Shianni, do you have to beat up a Shem in every town we visit?” Cian objected.

“They start it,” she protested.

“This one did,” Jowan stood and approached the small group.  “Look… Dustin, why don’t you have a nice dinner and I’m sure we can find a runner who will locate an inn with a vacancy for you.”

Dustin looked him up and down.  “I don’t know why you’re interrupting my business, pipsqueak, but I’ll just have to pummel you before I teach these knife ears to respect their betters.”

“You tell him, Dusty-boo,” Helen egged him on.

Dustin said no more, but pulled his fist back to punch Jowan.  Shianni grabbed his wrist and flipped him over the table so he landed on the floor with a resounding crack.  “Thank you for trying to help, sir,” she smiled at Jowan.  “I can handle myself, though.”  She punched Dustin as he tried to struggle off of the floor.

Helen let out a scream of rage and jumped on Jowan, only to feel a lightning bolt hit her.  She slumped, unconscious, to the floor.

Dustin lurched to his feet, weaving.  “Who hurt my sis… wife?”  He turned to see Sir Gilmore and Sabina standing behind them.  Sabina’s hair lifted from the electric energy snapping around her.  “You’re a witch!”  He tried to punch her, but her fist connected squarely with his jaw and he flew back.  This time he stayed down.

“I was beating him up!”  Shianni objected.

“What?  I can’t help?”  Sabina wondered.

“We appreciate your help,” Cian assured him.  “Shianni and I came to help defend the people against the undead.  However, there always seems to be at least one person who doesn’t want our help.”

“You’re here to fight the undead?”  Sir Gilmore smiled at him.  “We are as well.  I would love the help.  Do you have any skills?”

“He’s not bad with a sword and dagger,” Shianni revealed.  “I am rather handy with a bow.  Just a warning, though, there are… authorities… in Denerim who may be after us.”

“Are they the same ones after Jowan?”  Sabina inclined her head towards her friend.  “Perhaps having all three of you together will confuse them as to who they want to take in more.  It will give us a chance to slip away.”

“They could decide to just take all three,” Sir Gilmore pointed out.

“So says the man with Earl Howe’s men after him,” Sabina raised an eyebrow.

“Touché,” he sat down.  “How would you like to join forces?”  He asked the two elves.

“Aid in battle could be helpful,” Shianni considered.  “Just don’t slow us down.”

“Did you see what she did to Helen, there,” Cian pointed to the unconscious woman.  “We might want to get those two a doctor.”

“I’ll talk to the inn keeper,” Jowan volunteered.  “He can find them a doctor, or a coroner, or a sanitation worker, something.”

“Does Earl Howe being after you have anything to do with the trouble in Highever?” Cian had picked up on Sabina’s earlier comment.

“I’ll tell you my deep dark secrets if you tell me yours,” Gilmore offered.

“Sure, why not?” Cian shrugged.


	43. Redcliffe Village

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maeve's team enter's Redcliffe Village. They are having a zombie problem.

The _Crimson Griffon_ , as Alistair and Maeve had named their boat, sailed into Redcliffe about an hour after dawn.  The sun was still obscured by thick clouds and a fog rolled off of Lake Calenhad.  Maeve dressed and let Leliana do her hair before going to the bridge to pull up the anchor.

They might have docked earlier, but Alistair had gone into the bridge to talk to Maeve privately.  VanHowling had followed him in, though.  He didn’t feel he ever had to respect his mistress’ privacy.

“Look, Freckles, can we talk for a moment?”  He sounded dire.  “I need to tell you something I, ah, should probably have told you earlier.”

“What’s wrong?”  She inquired.

“I told you before how Earl Eamon raised me, right?”  He began.  “That he said my mother was a serving girl in Redcliffe Castle and he took me in?  The reason he was willing to raise me was because… well, because my father was King Maric.  Which made Cailan my… half-brother, I suppose.

Great, she had developed feelings for her dead husband’s brother.  Maeve’s mind whirled for a moment.  Why hadn’t he told her before?  She thought he trusted her.  Then her thoughts pinpointed on one detail.  “So… you’re not just a bastard, but a royal bastard.”

He laughed.  “Yes, I guess you could say that.  I should use that line more often.  I would have told you, but… it never really meant anything to me.  I was inconvenient, a possible threat to Cailan’s rule and so they kept me a secret.  I’ve never talked about it to anyone.  Everyone who knew either resented me for it or they coddled me… even Duncan kept me out of the fighting because of it.  I didn’t want you to know, as long as possible.  I’m sorry.”

“I can’t believe you kept this from me,” she looked towards the shore. 

“I’m sorry, I…  I didn’t want it to influence the way you thought about me,” he admitted.

“I understand,” she’d grown up the daughter of Ferelden’s most powerful duke.  It did color the way many people looked at her.

“Good, that’s a relief,” he smiled.  “I would hate for it to come between us.  Anyway, that’s it.  That’s my big secret.  I had to tell you, though.  I thought you should hear it from me before anyone in Redcliffe recognized me and went blabbing.”

“There isn’t anything else you’re hiding from me, is there?”  She saw Leliana trying to signal her from beside the anchor, she wanted to know if she was ready to raise it and be on their way.  She shook her head.

“Besides my unholy love of cheese and a minor obsession with my hair, no,” he assured her.  “That’s it, just the prince thing.”

“So should we start addressing you as Prince Alistair?” She teased.

“No!”  His voice raised two octaves and then came back down.  Maker’s breath, just hearing that gives me a heart attack!  It’s not true, anyhow… I’m the son of a commoner.  It was always made clear that the throne is not in my future.  And that’s fine by me.  No, if there’s an heir to be found, it’s Earl Eamon himself.  He’s not of royal blood, but he is Cailan’s uncle and more importantly, very popular with the people.”

“Alistair, he is only an earl,” Maeve pointed out.  “He’s Cailan’s uncle, because his sister married king Maric.  If we try to claim that having a relative marry into the royal family and being popular with the people is all one needs to now become king, then we might as well let Loghain keep the crown.  He can claim both of those as well.”

“No!”  Alistair shouted.  “We can’t let him keep the crown.  Not after he killed Cailan and Duncan to gain it.  How could you even suggest that?  You were…”

“I was the daughter of Duke Bryce Cousland,” she supplied.  “My family would have had the strongest claim on the throne in the event there were no Theirins left.  I have no doubt that Loghain had a hand in Howe’s actions.  I’m sure he is the reason Eamon is sick.  Maric doesn’t have any other bastards lying around, does he?”

“Not that I know of,” Alistair admitted.  “I seem to be the only one.  I’m special.”

“That you are,” she agreed.  “Let’s just concentrate on getting Loghain and Anora off of the throne, and then we can discuss who to put in their place.”

“Well, there you have it,” Alistair declared.  “Now can we move on, and I’ll pretend I’m some… nobody who was too lucky to die with the rest of the Crimson Wardens.”

“Whatever you command, my prince,” she ducked out of the bridge.  “Raise the anchor!”

They moved slowly through the fog to the town.  Maeve expertly maneuvered the boat into the docks and tied it up as Balder led their horses out to stretch their legs.

A villager ran to them as they stepped into the village.  “I thought I saw a boat moving through the fog.  I scarcely believed it.  Have you come to help us?”

“Why am I not surprised that the moment we set foot on dry land again, there is some slack jawed villager who wants help,” Morrigan rolled her eyes.  “’Tis better if we just board ship again and move on until whatever is troubling them is over.”

“Morrigan!”  Balder’s jaw dropped open.  “We can’t abandon these people.”

“We can,” she insisted.  “’Twould be quite easy.”

“We have to help them,” Leliana disagreed.  “Maeve, we have to help these people.”

“Let’s find out what is wrong first,” Maeve insisted.  She turned back to the villager.  “I came to see Earl Eamon.”

“The earl?  Then you don’t know what is happening?”  The villager seemed shocked.  “Has nobody out there heard what is happening?”

“I’ve heard that Eamon is ill, if that’s what you mean,” Maeve responded.

“He could be dead for all we know!”  The villager cried.  “Nobody’s heard from the castle in days.  We’re under attack.  The walking dead come out of the castle every night and attack us until dawn.  Everyone’s been fighting… and dying.  We’ve no army to defend us, no earl, and no king to send us help.  So many are dead and those left are terrified they’re next.”

“Hold on,” Alistair demanded.  “What do you mean the walking dead are attacking you?”

“I… I can’t be sure,” he admitted.  “No one can.  They were… we thought them mere myth.  They are zombies!  I should take you to Baron Teagan.  He’s all that is holding us together.  He’ll want to see any newcomers.  Have any of you fought zombies before?”

“Baron Teagan?”  Alistair repeated.  “Earl Eamon’s brother, he’s here?” 

“Yes,” the villager confirmed.  “Please come with me, I’ll take you to him.”  He led them further into the village.

“Zombies are real?”  Leliana was surprised.

“Why not?” Maeve shrugged.  “Vampires and dragons are, why not zombies?”

“If a vampire and zombie bit each other, would the vampire become a zombie or would the zombie become a vampire?”  Leliana wondered.

“A zombie is a rotting corpse, that has risen and mindlessly feeds,” Balder explained.  “While a vampire dies and rises again to feed on the blood of the living.”

“That doesn’t really answer the question,” Alistair pointed out.  “They are still two different types of undead creatures.”

“The vampire retains the memories of the person they were before, however,” Balder rationalized his position.  “So they are not just a rotting corpse like a zombie.  They are something more.  A zombie doesn’t need its blood to live, so it will not become tainted by the Curse of the Vampires. However, a vampire is already dead and can not die and become a rotting corpse merely from a bite.”

“So you’re saying that neither would change,” Alistair deduced.

“Exactly,” Balder smiled.

“I can see that,” Leliana conceded.  “Still, why don’t we capture one of these zombies and then capture a vampire and lock them in a room together to see what happens.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Maeve agreed.

“Tis a horrible idea,” Morrigan declared.  “They would likely realize that they have no interest in each other and get out of the room to go for us.  I can assure you that both my blood and brains are the most amazing that either would have ever encountered.”

“Aren’t we vain,” Leliana grumbled.  VanHowling barked in agreement.

“I’m sure you’re blood and brains are adorable,” Balder assured her.

“Let’s not find out,” Maeve continued through the village.  She saw only a few villagers until she saw the mayor and militia training.  The militia was little more than farmers waving pitchforks.  They wore mismatched armor and carried their swords as if they were trying to frighten away crows.  She realized the villager was leading them to the local chantry.

The building had high arches and frescos depicting Andraste in battle.  There was a large cross carved on the door and Andraste’s Grace growing around it.  A pair of gargoyles sat over the door, watching warily.  They were probably the only thing that had saved those cowering inside.

Sure enough, half of the village seemed to be huddled inside the building.  People cowered in the halls and rooms.  The villager led them to the far end of the main hall to where a man with a man with shoulder length chestnut hair and in noble attire waited.  He wore a sword and shield, but they did not have the battle hardened nicks and blemishes that Maeve was used to seeing among the barons.  The shield carried the heraldry of the House of Guerrin.  This would be Teagan then.  The baron is question turned to address the villager.  “It is… Thomas, yes?  And who are these people with you?  They’re obviously not simple travelers.”                                                                                    

“No, my lord,” Thomas answered.  “They just arrived, and I thought you would want to see them.”

“Well done, Thomas,” Teagan gave a small bow.  “Greetings, friends, my name is Teagan, Baron of Rainesfere, and brother of Earl Eamon.”

“I remember you, Baron Teagan,” Alistair revealed.  “Although, the last time we met I was a lot younger… and covered in mud.”

“Covered in mud?”  He seemed to think for a moment.  “Alistair, it is you, isn’t it?  You’re alive!  This is wonderful news!”

“Still alive, yes,” Alistair agreed.  “Though not for long if Duke Loghain has anything to say about it.”

“Indeed,” Teagan concurred.  “Loghain would have us believe all of the Crimson Wardens died along with my nephew, amongst other things.”

“So you don’t believe the egregious lies that Duke Loghain has been spreading since Ostagar?”  Baron Teagan went up in Maeve’s estimations.

“What, that he pulled his men in order to save them?”  Baron Teagan raised an eyebrow.  “That Cailan risked everything in the name of glory?”  Now he made a scoffing sound.  “Hardly.  Loghain calls the Crimson Wardens traitors, murderers of the king.  I don’t believe it, it’s an act of a desperate man.  So,” he smiled at Maeve.  “You are a Crimson Warden, too?  I get the feeling we’ve met before.”

“We have,” she confirmed.  “It was at the Caer Oswin last Satinalia.  You will recall that our hostess was falling down drunk, yet still managed to recite an entire portion of the Chant of Light.  Her words were horribly slurred, but she did it.  We danced a waltz together, but then you seemed to be flitting through all of the eligible ladies at the party.  I am not, however, a Crimson Warden.  I am one of the Chosen Ones, yes, but I never joined the Order.”

“Lady Maeve Cousland,” he grimaced at realizing what a faux pas he’d made by not recognizing her earlier.  She had been one of the most sought after ladies of peerage.  The last he had heard, however, she would soon be off the marriage mart.  He wondered if that were now true or not.  “You’re here to see my brother?  Unfortunately, that might be a problem.  Eamon is gravely ill.  No one has heard from the castle in days.  No guards patrol the walls, and no one has responded to my shouts.  That attacks started a few nights ago.   Evil… things… surged from the castle.  We drove them back, but many perished during the assault.  The mayor, Murdock, identified them as zombies; although some of his men insist on calling them the walking dead.”

“You’re sure they are zombies?”  Balder asked from the back of the group.

VanHowling let out a bark, reprimanding him for questioning the baron who had seen them first hand.

“Some of the men call them the walking dead,” Teagan repeated.  “They are decomposing corpses returning to life with a hunger for human flesh.”

“That sounds like a zombie to me,” Leliana confirmed.

“They hit again the next night,” Teagan nodded to her.  “Each night they come, with greater numbers.  With Cailan dead and Loghain starting a war over the throne, no one responds to my calls for urgent help.  I have a feeling tonight’s assault will be the worst yet.  Alistair, I hate to ask, but I desperately need the help of you and your friends.”

“It isn’t up to just me,” Alistair protested.  “Although, the Crimson Wardens don’t stand much of a chance against Loghain without Earl Eamon.”

“Ferelden doesn’t stand much of a chance if we can’t take down Loghain,” Maeve pointed out.  “Without Eamon we don’t have the man power to take down Loghain.  Even if that weren’t the case, we aren’t going to just leave a bunch of innocents to become the meal of a horde of zombies.”

“No, we are not,” Leliana stated.  She and Balder looked at each other and gave a succinct nod.

Morrigan snorted.  “’Tis just the natural order of things.  Someone raised these walking dead, let them deal with them.  ‘Tis not our fault nor our problem.”

“Child, we do not turn our back on others just because we didn’t cause their suffering and can just walk away,” Wynne reprimanded her.

“Thank you!”  Teagan was relieved.  “Thank you, this… means more to me than you can guess.  Thomas, please tell Murdock what transpired.  Then return to your post.”

“Yes, my lord,” Thomas walked away.

“Now then,” Teagan turned back to Alistair and Maeve.  “There is much to do before night falls.  I’ve put two men in charge of the defense outside.  Murdock, the village mayor, is outside the chantry.  Ser Perth, one of Eamon’s knights is just up the cliff at the windmill, watching the castle.  I need to coordinate preparations for the coming battle with them.”

“How did your hunt for a wife end up going, Teagan?”  Maeve had to find out.  There had been a few ladies interested in the baron.  Her own mother had tried to turn her head Teagan’s way.  Maeve had considered him, but had been waiting to see if he was going to join her bevy of suitors of his own accord.”

“There was one eligible maiden that I was interested in,” he admitted.  “But then I heard that someone of higher rank and caliber was courting her.  I could not hope to compete with him for the most desired lady in Ferelden.”

“Not all women are looking to their highest ranking suitor,” she enlightened him.  “You should not let fear of another suitor chase you away from someone you want.”

He smiled at her and took her hand, kissing it.  “Yes, I know now that she is apparently still single.  Perhaps when we have beaten back the Blight, she will allow me to court her.”  He gave her a pointed look that made her cheeks pinked.

“Perhaps you should not delay such courtship until the end of a Blight,” she warned.  “After all, the first Blight lasted nearly two hundred years and even with the Crimson Wardens, the second one was close to a hundred years.  That is an awfully long time to wait.  You must be more bold.”

“More bold?”  He lifted the hand he still held and kissed her wrist.  “That is sage advice, my lady.”

“Or this lady might not be as available as you think,” Alistair took Maeve’s hand out of Teagan’s and tucked it into the crook of his arm, he glared at Teagan.

“Is this hypothetical lady aware that she is no longer available?” Maeve was confused.  Alistair had never indicated that he was courting her.

“Perhaps, a conversation with said lady needs to take place,” Alistair admitted.  “Our first concern are these zombies, however.  We must save these people from them.”

“My thanks my friends,” Teagan bowed.

Maeve might be confused by Alistair’s behavior, but she was also a bit miffed to realize that Teagan wasn’t planning to fight.  “Will you be joining us in the battle, Baron Teagan?”

“I will remain here and guard those who have taken sanctuary in the chantry,” he explained.  “I am a good enough warrior to admit that there are many who are far better.”

The man’s oldest sister had led armies against the Orlesians, but he would cower in a church with the children.  Women weren’t the only area that he needed to become more bold, or more brave, in.  “Does every sword not help?”  She challenged. 

“They do, I am but another line of defense against the walking dead, if they get pass you and near the children of Redcliffe,” Teagan reasoned.

“You’re a cowardly line of nug droppings,” Balder muttered as they moved off to save the people of Redcliffe.


	44. Frightened Villagers to Face Fierce Foes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maeve and company prepare to defend Redcliffe Village

 “We could still return to the boat and spend some time devising strategies against the undead… alone,” Morrigan murmured to Balder as they followed Maeve and Alistair through the chantry building.

“No we can’t,” Balder looked at her as if she’d just removed her own head and then went dancing under the full moon, sky clad, in front of a group of priests.  “We can’t just leave these people to have their brains devoured by zombies when we can help.”

Leliana stepped back to Balder’s other side.  “I’m glad we’re helping these people,” she smiled up at him.  “Aren’t you?”

“I am,” he smiled at her.  They both turned as Morrigan actually growled.  “Are you practicing to be able to turn into a bear Morrigan?”  Leliana questioned.  “Or possibly a wolf?  A bear would definitely be helpful against zombies.”

“Leliana,” Maeve gave her a pointed look and Leliana nodded at her. 

“You can go with Maeve, Morrigan,” Leliana offered.  “I don’t want you to get accidentally burned… or struck by lightning.”

“What are you talking about?” Morrigan wondered.  Then noticed that Leliana had gone on a hunt, she was steeling holy water and blessed objects.

“’Twill probably be more interesting than rifling through items that some priest or priestess prayed over,” she scoffed.  “Balder?”

“I’m guarding Leliana’s back,” he explained.  “We’ll be fine.  Go.”

 

Wynne had gone off to comfort the frightened villagers, VanHowling was sniffing at all of those huddled in the chantry, and Maeve was hoping to find a way to speak privately with Alistair when Morrigan rejoined them.  She looked like she wanted to rip someone’s heart out and take a bite out of it and didn’t care whose heart it was.  So much for speaking privately.

“Oh, did you fall off of your broom?”  Alistair asked archly.  “Or are you just hungry?”

“’Tis no concern of yours,” Morrigan made a disgusted noise.  “Nor are these walking dead a concern of ours.  I still say we should leave and come back when the creatures have starved to death.”

“It’s too bad they seem to feed on brains,” Alistair retorted.  “If they preferred hearts, you’d be safe from them.”

Maeve was distracted by a woman crying hysterically in one corner.  “Are you all right?”

“Sorry, am I bothering you?”  The woman was young; she would barely have had her coming out ball if she were a noble.  She was dressed reasonably well, but was dirty from sleeping on the chantry floor.  “I’ll try to cry more quietly.”

“That would be appreciated,” Morrigan nodded.

“Heartless witch,” Alistair muttered.

“Don’t worry about bothering others,” Maeve gave her a small, kind smile.  Wynne would have approved.  She only now noticed Wynne approaching them.  “Your burden must be heavy to cause such a flood of tears.  What’s happened?”

“Her village is being overrun by zombies and a vampiric horde is over taking the rest of the country,” Morrigan reminded her.

“Those…”  The woman stifled another sob.  “Those things dragged my mother away.  I don’t know what happened to her, but I hear her screaming all the time, everywhere.”

“She’s decided to haunt you,” Morrigan decided.  “You will have her with you forever now, are you not happy about that?”

“That’s terrible,” Wynne rushed to her side and gathered her into her arms, even as she sent a glare Morrigan’s way.  “We will help you, child.  Won’t we?”  Her look became pointed and moved its aim to Maeve.

“And now my brother, Bevin… he ran off,” the woman sniffed.  “I… I don’t know where he is!  I’m so scared that they got him, too.”

“Probably, they have,” Morrigan agreed.  “’Tis his own fault for running off like that.  It is best that you resolve yourself to being alone.  There is no reason to bemoan what could have been.  You need to look ahead and secure your own survival.”

“Morrigan!”  Wynne reprimanded her. 

“What?”  Morrigan shrugged.  “The world is dark and cruel.  She has the choice whether to die or survive.  Crying will not help her live another day.”

“Do you know where he might have gone?”  Maeve didn’t like the idea of a child being dragged off by mindless undead and … consumed.

“He said something about getting father’s sword,” the woman sniffed.  “Father was a dragon hunter.  The sword is locked in a chest in our home.”

“Where is the house?”  Wynne smoothed her hair.

“It’s near the general store and docks,” she wailed.  “But I looked there.  I’ve looked everywhere.  I wonder if he ran off into the woods.  I’m so scared.

“We’ll look for him, won’t we?”  Wynne stared down Morrigan now.

“We will,” Maeve agreed.  “Let’s go find this mayor and knight.”

 

As they stepped out of the chantry building, Morrigan took a deep, appreciative breath.  “Ah, fresh air, ‘twas difficult to breathe within with all that self-righteousness crowding the air.”

She passed a militia man who was bemoaning the lack of a sufficient number of men to fight the walking dead.  She saw that he was right as she approached those who practiced drills in the middle of the town’s square.  She assumed the man overseeing the training was the town’s mayor, Murdock.  The insignias on his militia uniform marked him as such.  “Murdock?”

“That’s me,” he looked her up and down.  “So you’re the Crimson Warden, are you?  I didn’t think they made women Crimson Wardens.”

“That is the most chauvinistic thing I have ever heard,” she glared at him.  “As many women are born with the Mark, as men, perhaps more so.  The gifts that come with that Mark mean that I could easily snap _you_ in two.”

“’Twould be a fitting consequence for such a remark,” Morrigan agreed.  “You should do it.”

“No,” he waved his hands in front of him like two fans.  “That won’t be necessary.  We won’t turn aside anyone who wants to help, though.  Don’t take me for being an ingrate or nothing.”

“Well, we do want to help however we can,” Alistair assured him.  “You can trust us.”

“Names Murdock,” he, unnecessarily, introduced himself.  “I’m mayor of what’s left of the village… provided we aren’t all killed and hauled off to the castle tonight.”

“If you believe you will fill a zombie’s belly tonight, you will find a way to do so,” Maeve assured him.  “If you believe you will live, you may just.”

“I’m trying to hold us together,” his voice became softer.  “But it isn’t easy.  Anyhow, you’re here now and they tell me you’re in charge.”

“How’s the morale?”  Alistair looked over the men.

“Morale’s what you’d expect,” Murdock admitted.  “These men aren’t soldiers.  They’re villagers defending their homes, and they’re frightened.  It would help if we had decent equipment.  There weren’t enough swords in Owen’s shop and the men’s armor is nearly falling off of them.  I don’t think we’re in any shape to fight.  We’ll do our best, of course, but… well, I have my doubts.  I just hope I’m alive tomorrow morning.”

“So what is it you need us to do about this problem?” Maeve prompted.

“We need what little armor and weapons we got repaired and quickly or half of us will be fighting without either,” Murdock admitted.  “Look at these men.  Do you really want to see them fighting naked, do you?  Owen’s the only blacksmith who can do it, but the old fool refuses to even talk.  I we’re to be ready tonight, we’ll need that crotchety bastard’s help.”

“He plans to just let everyone die?”  Wynne’s hand went to her heart.  “Why would he do such a thing?”

“His daughter, Valena, is one of the countesses’ maids, so he hasn’t heard from her since this whole business started,” Murdock explained.  “He demanded we attack the castle, break down the gate, and force our way in.  I said it was impossible, but he wouldn’t listen.  He’s locked himself in the smithy now.  I can’t force him to do repairs… he says he would rather die first.”

“You only have one blacksmith?”  Maeve looked around the town.  The buildings closer to the lake were showing signs of ware, their paint was peeling and worn wood showed through.  Those buildings further away, were made from strong stone.  Ivy ran up them, but their metal accents were showing rust.  “Doesn’t he at least have an apprentice?  How has the town not attracted another blacksmith?  Surely you must have someone.”  Highever had had four.

“No one else has the skills to have them done by nightfall,” Murdock assured her.  “Michael takes days to shoe a horse and is not skilled enough that I would test his repairs in combat.  If there were any others, don’t you think I’d ask them?”

“We’ll see what we can do about Owen, then,” Maeve wanted to save Eamon now; just so she could have a word with him about the state his town was in.

“I’d appreciate that,” Murdock rubbed his forehead.  “If he doesn’t help, he’ll die like the rest of us.  What good will that do anyone then?”

“Let’s go get this Owen to talk and then find that missing boy,” Maeve looked at Alistair.  “Have you ever fought zombies before?”

“I’ve never even seen one,” he admitted.  “Still, I’ve read of them.”

“As have I,” she admitted.  “Perhaps we can find someone to at least make clubs for these townsfolk.”

 

 

The smithy wasn’t hard to find.  Its stones had been blackened with time and from the constant smoke that bellowed from it.  The door was wood and worn.  The door knocker and latch were polished, though.  The knocker was shaped like a wolf with a large ring in its mouth.  After finding the smithy locked, Maeve used the knocker letting it bang harshly against the wood.  There was no answer.

“He obviously does not wish to be disturbed,” Morrigan pointed out.

“People are going to die if he doesn’t help,” Alistair reminded her.

“’Tis not his problem,” Morrigan shrugged.

It might not be their problem, but Maeve didn’t think the ghosts of the villagers would necessarily agree if she left them to die just because their blacksmith was stubborn.  She tried to open the door.  It was locked.  “Should I pick it or would you like to break the lock for me, my prince?”

“Pick it, let’s not give the poor blacksmith a heart attack,” he suggested.

Maeve crouched and studied the lock.

“Oh, lock picking, let me do it,” Leliana rushed to them.  “Let me.”

“Fine,” Maeve stepped back.  “How did your little ‘excursion’ go?”

“I managed to appropriate a dozen bottles of holy water, two packages of wafers, a few crosses, a small statue of Andraste, and a wreath of Andraste’s Grace.  I also found a small pillow that appears to have wards weaved into it.  I hear Chosen Ones get nightmares and can sometimes communicate with the Vampire King, so it could be useful if he targets one of you.”

“I might be able to replicate the ward and stitch something for our other Chosen Ones,” Wynne offered.

“Give it to Maeve,” Alistair instructed.  “She… well, let’s just say she needs it the most.”

“Are you sure?” Balder hadn’t been told of the Vampire King’s interest in his companion.

Alistair didn’t plan to tell him either.  “Yes.”

“Voila,” Leliana opened the door.  “Andraste’s Blessed Flats!”

The Blacksmith lay in a pool of vomit, beer bottles and a dozen empty casks were scattered around the room.  It was evident that he had died a few days before.  His now sightless eyes were staring towards the castle.

Maeve and Wynne stepped out of the building, coughing raggedly from the smell.  Alistair went to check on them as Leliana closed the Blacksmith’s eyes and then went to find a priestess to give him last rights. 

Balder began checking the building.  “Let’s see what we can recover.”  He found tools and a couple of sets of armor, while Maeve informed the mayor that the Blacksmith would never make another repair.

From the Blacksmith’s shop, they went to check out the buildings near the main docks.  They found a mercantile shop.  There were no swords left, but they found a few pieces of furniture that had legs and other parts that they could turn into clubs and blunt weapons.  In a corner was also several barrels of oil.

“I believe that zombies are as vulnerable to fire as vampires,” Maeve informed them.

“Let’s hope so,” Balder agreed.

They also found the missing little boy in his own home.  He’d been hiding in a wardrobe. 

“Why are you hiding in there?”  Wynne gently knelt in front of the frightened child.

“I was going to get father’s sword, so I could help fight the monsters tonight,” he answered.  “Kaitlyn is scared and mother and father are both dead.  I have to be the man now.”

“Good show, young chap,” Balder approved.

“Thank you, sir,” the boy smiled at him.  “But the sword is too heavy.  I can’t lift it.”

“You’ll get strong enough one day, if you practice,” Alistair assured him.  “Keep practicing and you’ll be a great warrior.”

“I want to be a dragon slayer like papa was,” the boy confided to him.  “That won’t help me fight the zombies, though.”

“I’ll tell you what,” Maeve crouched in front of us.  “Let us use the sword to fight them for you and then I’ll give it back to you so you can protect my family from a dragon someday.”

“I guess that sounds fair,” they boy agreed.  “It’s upstairs,” he led them to a chest.  “Father called it the Sword of Peace.  He said it protected the peace of his village.”

“Then it is appropriate that we use it to protect the peace of his village for him, now that he is gone,” Maeve assured him.  “I will return it to you as soon as we’re done.  I promise.”


	45. A Stop at the Tavern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maeve and company stop in Redcliffe's tavern. They get a couple more recruits.

After returning Bevin to his sister, Maeve made her way to a nearby tavern.  The tavern’s stone was worn and ivy grew alongside it.  Cherubs had once graced its rafters, but now they were worn and grotesque, mutated big cheeked children who stared balefully at the patrons.  She wasn’t sure what she hoped to find there, but the town would need all the recruits they could get, as their armor wouldn’t be getting fixed.  She found only half a dozen patrons, along with a barmaid and the tavern keeper.

Maeve moved to sit down with the militia men.  “I don’t suppose you know of a blacksmith in the area besides, Owen?”

“Owen’s the best we got,” one man took a drink.  “Even drunk he could do better repairs the any other smithy around.”

“How well can he do it dead?”  Alistair sat down beside her.

“Well,” one man pondered as he stared into his drink.  “If we found a necromancer to raise him, he still might do a reasonable job.  The only challenge would be finding a necromancer around here.  There was a suspicious mage up at the castle, but no one can get in to see anyone in there.”

“Times are tough,” one of his companions agreed.  “I can’t believe Lloyd won’t even give us some free ale.  At a time like this and all he thinks about is turning a profit?”

“Did you expect anything different?”  One of his companions wondered.  “That bastard’s always been cheaper than an Antivan whore.”

“Here we are defending the village, and he don’t even have the decency to help us out!”  A third companion griped.

“You’re risking your lives to save his village and he’s charging you?  That’s outrageous!”  Balder declared. 

“You’re telling me,” the first militiaman agreed.  “We’re just trying to survive and he’s making a tidy profit.  He’ll probably just move on to Denerim when we’re all dead.”

“Ahh, what difference will it make?”  The second one questioned.  “He won’t care.”

“Is he not going to stay and fight?”  Maeve was shocked.  “This is his village, too.  Why should he be allowed to sit back and hide like a lily-livered lizard?”

“I’m going to go ask,” Balder marched over to the man in question.

“Hello there, friend,” Lloyd greeted him.  “I can’t say we’ve ever met before.  Stranger to the village, I take it?  Haven’t had many travelers lately.  All this nonsense is bad for business.  Bet you regret coming, yes?”

“Not at all,” Balder tilted his chin to where Maeve and the rest of her party sat with the militiamen.  “I came with friends and we are more than capable of taking care of ourselves.”

“Brave words, brave words,” Lloyd tsked.  “Well, well, we’ll see when night falls.  Won’t we?  So, what will it be?  You are here to drink, I hope.”

“I hear you’re overpriced,” Balder casually leaned against the bar.  “I hear you’re even charging the poor militia for ale.  They are putting their lives on the line, fighting the walking dead, while you stay safely up here in your tavern where you think it’s safe.”

“Why shouldn’t I?”  Lloyd saw no problem in his actions.  “They may be brave fellows who don’t have much coin, but I’m not giving it away for free.”

“Nah, that was his sister,” one of the militia men confided to Alistair.  Alistair blushed and stammered in response.

“Will their money even spend if you’re dead?”  Balder kept his voice casual.

“Are we sure he didn’t kill his brother?” Alistair muttered to Maeve.

“Hey!  There’s no need for that kind of talk!  That’s murder!”  Lloyd protested.

“What have you been doing when the undead attack?”  Balder wondered, casually. 

“I hid in me cellar,” Lloyd admitted.

“That’s what I thought,” Balder turned and leaned further forward, getting in Lloyd’s face.  “You have two choices.  You can either go help Murdock fight and give the militia a discount or I could use you as bait tonight.”

“But Baron Teagan said we don’t have to fight,” Lloyd protested.

“Under Teagan’s command, villagers have become zombified,” Balder declared.  “You’re under our command until this problem is taken care of.”

Lloyd looked to his friends and Maeve and Alistair waved back.

“Fine, I’ll go fight,” Lloyd threw off his apron and went to join the militia.

The barmaid laughed.  “I can’t believe you did it, you got that knave Lloyd to go fight.  The drinks are on the house.”  The patrons cheered and she kissed Balder’s cheek, not missing the glares that both Morrigan and Leliana sent her way.

Maeve approached the barmaid before any of her companions could explain, with weapons, that they were not willing to share the dwarf.  “I don’t suppose Owen had an apprentice, did he?”

“Owen the Blacksmith?”  Bella thought.  “Yes, Vili.  Owen locked him out of the smithy when we lost communication with the castle.  He’s probably in his home; he lives by the lake, two houses down from the smithy.”

“That’s good to know,” Maeve would need to find him.  Who’s the suspicious elf in the corner?”  She indicated an elven man with a bow and arrow who stared out the window.  He was dressed in the armor of a rogue and had a ponytail that was placed in the mid back of his head, a strange placement in her mind.  The bow appeared to be of Dalish make, as did the fletching and shaft of his arrows.  Yet he did not bare their marks and his pinched expression bespoke of nerves rarely seen with the wilder elves.

“His name’s Berwick,” Bella explained.  “He claims he is waiting for his brother.  If my brother was out there somewhere with the vampire and zombie problems we’re having, I wouldn’t be sitting so calmly.  All we need now is a pack of werewolves.”

“I’m going to go talk to him,” Maeve informed the barmaid.  “If anyone gives you trouble, just have Balder threaten them like he did Lloyd.”

“I will,” Bella promised.  “I’ll show him what we have in back to.  There’s some wine, healing potions, and a few odds and ends.”

“Bring me the wine and healing potions, please,” Maeve instructed.  “Tell him he can keep the rest.”

“But he…”  She began to object, but Balder nodded and winked at her.  “Very well.”

Maeve approached the elf.  “Excuse me.”

“You’re very pretty,” he informed her.  “But I’m not looking for company.”

“We haven’t been properly introduced, sir,” she reprimanded him.  “I don’t believe we know each other well enough for that sort of talk.  Really, Berwick, did your mother teach you no manners?”

“What?” His jaw dropped open.  “How did you know… yes, I’m Berwick.  Yet you say we’ve never met.”

“So, do you think your brother will arrive soon?”

“My what?”  He blinked a moment, his abhorrent mind trying to recall the lies he claimed.  “Oh… yes, he was supposed to meet me here.  And then I became stuck here when the monsters from the castle attacked.”

“So you decided to just hang out at a table in a tavern and start brooding?”  She sat down.  She noted that Berwick was facing a window, but it was shut with the shudders drawn.  “Why don’t you cut the poppycock and tell me the truth?”

He feigned innocence once more, but could not hide his devious intents.  “I don’t know what you mean?”

“Do you even have a brother?”  She wondered.  “If you did, why Redcliffe?  Why are you here Berwick?”  She drew out the sword of Faith and began using the cloth napkin someone had left on the table to clean it.

“I…”  He looked at the sword.  “That’s a beautiful sword.”

“Yes, it is,” she agreed.  “Now tell me why you are really here.”

“Look you’re beautiful and all,” he tried to deflect her again.

“That she is,” Alistair sat down beside them.  “She’s also smart, brave, skilled, and she isn’t afraid of getting bloody as she wreaks vengeance and retribution upon her enemies.”

“He…”  Maeve stopped and smiled at Alistair.  “Really, you think so?”

“I know so,” he assured her.  “Seeing you all bloody as you wreak retribution is a sight to behold, it takes my breath away.”

“Awe,” she kissed his cheek.  “Well, Berwick here is twitchy and a liar,” she informed him.  “He thinks that his cockamamie story about waiting for his brother is believable.”  She recounted what he’d said to her.

Alistair laughed.  “Good, sir, your cover story lacks imagination.”

“I was going to put the Sword of Faith in him if he didn’t tell use the truth,” she lifted the sword she was cleaning.

“Use Sir Pointy,” he drew out his sword and handed it to her.  “That will help him get to the point.  ‘To the point’ get it,” he chuckled again.

Maeve laughed, she found Alistair’s bad jokes adorable.  “So, Berwick, are you going to tell me the truth or is Sir Pointy going to get it out of you?  The Sword of Faith could bolster your belief in truth, though.”

“I… don’t… know what you… mean,” he stammered. 

“Let’s start with why you aren’t helping to defend the city,” Maeve suggested.  “For all I know, you could be a necromancer who started this trouble and are sitting here comfortably, enjoying your handy work.”

“I was told I didn’t have to fight,” Berwick protested.  “I stay in the chantry at night, and I just came here to… to be alone, that’s all.  Look you’re very pretty and deadly and all, but I was told to… er… just leave me alone!”

“Sir Pointy wants to get to know you better,” Maeve ran a gentle finger down the sword in question’s blade.  “He wants you to talk about who told you to do something.  What did they tell you to do?”

“Nothing!”  He fidgeted.  “Nobody told me to do anything.  Just because you’re a Crimson Warden doesn’t mean you can go around threatening people!”

“I’m not a Crimson Warden,” Maeve corrected him.

“I am, though,” Alistair admitted.  “Who told you we were Crimson Wardens?”

“I just… overheard it,” Berwick stumbled.  “That’s all.”  He set down his drink.  “If you’ll excuse me, I want to get to the chantry before the sun goes down.”

“He thinks I’m going to let him just go to the chantry,” Maeve spoke to Alistair.  “Does he look like a child who needs protecting?”

“Well, he is a bit on the small side,” Alistair pretended to study the elf.  “He doesn’t look like a child, however.  He’s seems more like a scuzzy uncle’s questionable friend.”

Maeve lifted an eyebrow.  “It will go much easier on you if you just tell me what you’re hiding.  What secrets are swirling in that aberrant mind of yours?”

“If I…?”  Berwick made a vain attempt to act innocent. “But I never…  Oh, all right…  I’ll tell you… just don’t hurt me!  This is more than I bargained for.  I… well, they just paid me to watch the castle and send word should anything change.  This was supposed to be an easy job.  They never said anything about monsters!  I haven’t even been able to report anything since this started.  I’m stuck, the same as you.  I swear.”

            “You said ‘they’ hired you,” Maeve leaned forward, menacingly.  “Who is _they_.”

            “It was a tall fellow, I forget his name.  He… uh… he said he was working for Howe, Earl Rendon Howe.  He’s an important man.  He’s Duke Loghain’s right hand!  I didn’t do anything wrong.”

            “Oh, yes you did,” she informed him.

            Alistair quickly put a hand on Maeve’s arm.  “Don’t kill him yet.”

            “But he’s working for Howe,” she protested.  “He _has_ to die.”

            “Let him talk first,” Alistair insisted.  He then turned to Berwick.  “I would talk fast, before she does kill you.  Let’s just say that she knows Rendon Howe better than you do and she isn’t impressed.”

            “They said to report any changes in the castle,” Berwick shrank back from the look that was now in Maeve’s eyes.  “Honest!  All I could send word about was the earl getting sick.  After that the walking dead began coming out of the castle.”

            “So how did the castle start producing zombies?”  Maeve slid The Sword of Faith into its sheath and pulled out The Sword of Cousland.  It sang for the blood of one who worked for its enemy.

            “I don’t know anything about these creatures!”  Berwick insisted.  “When the earl got sick, I got scared that people would think I was involved.”

            “That’s what I’ll tell them when I kill you,” Maeve confided.  “I’ll tell them that I learned that you had a hand in the poisoning.”

            “What!”  Berwick screamed.

            “Maeve,” Alistair stood and began giving her a back massage in hopes of calming her long enough to get information from the elf who’d made the mistake of working for Howe.

            “But I swear that I don’t know anything about the earl getting sick,” Berwick protested.  “They sent me; maybe they knew the earl would become ill.  I don’t know.”  When neither Maeve nor Alistair said anything, he continued.  “Here… this is a letter from them.  It has instructions and everything… keep it!  Do whatever you want with it!  I just thought I was serving the king and making a bit of coin on the side.  You have to believe me!”

            “Loghain is _not_ the king!”  Alistair slammed his hand on the table.

            “He’s the king’s father-in-law,” Berwick pointed out.  “He serves the king, so I thought I was.”

            “He serves himself,” Maeve retorted.  “I’ll let you live under one condition.  You will help defend the city against the zombies and renounce any vows made to Howe and his cronies.”

            “Fine,” Berwick sighed.  “I’ll do it.”  It was obvious that the crazy redhead would kill him otherwise.  “I’ll go find Murdock.”

            “It was nice talking to you,” Maeve signaled Bella and ordered drinks to be brought to their table.”

 

 

            The wine had a nice rich flavor, she could detect ginger and cloves in it.  Closing her eyes, Maeve took another sip.

            “So, what are your plans for after we kill the Vampire King?” Alistair took a drink of his ale.

            Maeve was afraid to think about it.  She didn’t like the prospect of no longer being by Alistair’s side.  Maybe she could convince him to stay with her.  “I need to free Highever.  After that… well, I am the rightful duchess.  I will work on restoring any damage that Howe did to my home or my people.”

            “What about…”  He took a deep drink.  “Will you miss anything about traveling?”

            “I will miss having you around all the time,” she confided.  “I won’t miss Balder trying to figure out his life or praying to the Maker every night that I don’t have a vampire king paying me visits as I dream or vise verse.”

            He put a gentle hand on her cheek and turned her face so he could look into her sea green eyes.  “Freckles, tell me the truth.  Has he?  I mean… since the night you saw Duncan?”

            “No, I’ve slept soundly the last couple of nights,” she gave a soft smile.  “Between you and Morrigan, no dark creature could approach our boat.”

            “I…” He stroked the cheek his hand was on.  “I worry I… I’ve come to care about you… a lot.  I know this isn’t a good time, there is the Blight and you were widowed not long before.  But… you said you weren’t in love with Cailan… and I can’t help how I feel.  I do, feel… things… soft warm things… for you.  I… I know I can’t just expect you to… I mean could you ever…”

            “I have feelings for you as well,” she assured him.  “I… well, I began to hope when you got jealous of Teagan and all possessive in the chantry that it meant more than just trying to get him away from one of your companions.  I mean if he were flirting with Morrigan instead…”

            “Teagan is my sort-of uncle,” Alistair protested.  “I would never let him be cursed with Morrigan.  I can’t just let him have you, though, not without saying anything.”

            “He isn’t the one who has me,” she assured him.

            “Good,” he leaned down and brought his lips to hers.  The kiss was gentle at first, then grew more intense as he pulled her into his arms as heat and excitement rushed through him.

            Maeve clung to Alistair as his lips continued to move on hers.  This was more intense than any of Cailan’s kisses.  She’d never felt such fire and passion soar through her, as she also felt a comforting warmth and sweet gentleness that made her just want to snuggle closer.  She felt safe and fierce at the same time.  It was almost overwhelming, yet welcoming.

            They were both panting as they parted.  “That… that wasn’t too soon, was it?”  His eyes searched her beautiful face, hesitant and hopeful.

            “I don’t care if it was,” she admitted.  “I want you to do it again.”

            He complied.


	46. Final Preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our heroes make final preparations before battling the walking dead.

Maeve noticed Leliana grinning at her when they left the tavern.  “What?”

            “Oh, we’ll talk later,” Leliana’s voice was sing-song.  She began singing softly as they walked along.

_Is this happening? Is this fantasy?_  
Never did I believe   
There could be such happiness   
Feels like nothing on earth   
Started with one little kiss...   
I could stay in this moment forever   
I could reach every star in the sky   
I could lose myself when I look   
Into your eyes... 

            “I’ve never heard you sing before, Leliana,” Balder realized.  “Your voice is lovely.”

            “I suppose if you like that type,” Morrigan sniffed.

            “It should be, Lady Cecile paid a lot for my lessons,” Leliana still smiled at the compliment.  “I do like that you appreciate it, though.”

            “Let’s find this Vili first,” Maeve didn’t want to interrupt Balder realizing that he was chancing losing a true prize by giving into Morrigan’s wiles and alienating Leliana.  Yet, nothing seemed to dampen Leliana’s suddenly bright mood.  Not even the gentle rain that was now falling.

            They found the blacksmith’s apprentice in a timeworn cottage, with worn stone and wood.  It was well taken care of and recent repairs were evident.  Vili turned out to be a city elf who had escaped the alienage and let Owen take the credit for a lot of his own talent.  He quickly agreed to take over repairs as soon as Owen’s body and… killer… had been cleared out. 

“I like to work with a clear head and I suspect that the fumes from his drinking binge could get me drunk,” he explained.

Maeve sent him on his way and continued to look for ways to help the besieged town.  She found another locked door with a dwarf and his two thugs, that he called bodyguards, behind it.

“The militia needs repairs,” Maeve explained why she had burst in.

“I’m no smith,” Dwynn the dwarf wasn’t amused by her assumption.  He folded his beef-like arms and glared at her.

“But… you’re a dwarf,” she turned to Balder.  “Aren’t most of your people smiths?”

“His people?”  Dwynn snorted and glanced at thugs tilting his head towards Maeve.  “Just because we’re both dwarfs doesn’t make me ‘his people’.”

“He’s your prince,” she insisted.

“She’s right,” Balder insisted.  “I’m not king, though.  My father is.”

“Oh, look men, we have a prince and a human who thinks she’s a princess,” Dwynn rolled his eyes.

“Queen, actually,” Maeve fluttered her eyelashes at him.  “If you aren’t a smith, which is a shame because you really should have been, then I guess you’ll have to make yourself useful and join the militia.”

“I’m staying right here, where it’s safe,” Dwynn insisted.

“’Tis no longer safe,” Morrigan confided.

“She’s right,” Maeve gestured to the door she’d broken in.  “Your lock is now broken and I’m in here.  I could kill both of your useless thugs before you say ‘get her, boys’ and be using their rib cages as hats.”

“They would make very unflattering hats,” Alistair decided.  “They are much too broad for your pretty head and the white bones would be too stark against your red curls.  Of course, you could rip them out and then we could decide.  Perhaps a type of fashion show.”

“Oooh, a fashion show,” Leliana smiled.  “I know Morrigan likes jewelry.  We could make a necklace out of Dwynn’s teeth.”

“The baron put you guys in charge?” Dwynn was becoming certain that all humans were homicidal maniacs.

“Well, he was too busy hiding in the chantry to do the job himself,” Balder pointed out.

“True, true,” Maeve agreed.  She smiled sweetly at Balder.  “You could go join the militia instead.”

Dwynn eyed her, trying to decide if her threat was real. 

“Three of them are Chosen Ones,” Leliana confided.

Dwynn and his men rushed out.

 

 

Sir Perth was near a large windmill that sat between the castle gates and the main path into Redcliffe Village.  The zombies would most likely pick that path for their attack.  The creatures weren’t known for their intelligence and were, therefore, predictable.  He greeted Maeve as she approached.  “How have preparations gone?”

“I thought Murdock was going to birth a druffalo when I told him of Owen’s death,” Maeve admitted.  “Vili seems to be doing well with the repairs, though.  I  also found several locals who seemed to have thought they didn’t have to help.  I disabused them of that assumption.”

“Baron Teagan thought that it was wrong to require those without any warrior skills to fight, especially when he was staying in the chantry,” Perth explained.

“It is wrong that he’s just staying in the chantry,” Balder agreed.

“A leader can’t lead while hiding,” Maeve looked around.  The sun was beginning to set.  “What about the barrels of oil in the mercantile shop?  Leliana has already confiscated some to make flaming arrows, but we could use more of it.”

“There are barrels of oil in the Mercantile?”  Perth was going to have to have a word with his men about evaluating assets.

“Enough to set the zombies ablaze,” she assured him.

 

 

Maeve sat beside Leliana as the latter melted silver she’d found in the chantry and poured it into a wooden mold she’d made.

“We should find more silver in Denerim,” Maeve watched the silver slowly flow and then begin to solidify.

“I hope to buy silver tipped arrows there,” Leliana confided.  “They aren’t cheap, though.”

“We should get enough from the coin and armor we loot off of those who’ll die tonight,” Maeve calculated.  “We’ll also check the chantry board when we get there.  We’ll get you new arrows.  At least they will have enough silver in the tips to take out any vampire you aim that at.”

“The silversmiths are probably making a fortune off of this Blight,” Leliana calculated.

“What was life like in the cloister?”  Maeve pulled out a few bottles of her own and began mixing.  She was making a coating for her swords.

“It was quiet,” Leliana recalled.  “Away from the fuss and flurry of the cities, I found peace.  In the stillness, I could hear the Maker.  But it was not perfect.  Some of the nuns and priests were condescending.  That is the nature of religious folk, I suppose.”

“That isn’t surprising,” Maeve admitted.  “They often think themselves second to only the nobles.  I thought they were nicer to each other, at least.”

“They were nice to those who agreed with them,” Leliana frowned.  “When I talked about my beliefs… that the Maker reveals Himself in the beauty of the world… they… they treated me with disdain.  They want to believe that He’s gone so that when He returns His gaze on them, it means they’re special… chosen.  He cannot possibly have love for all… the sick and weary, the beggars, and the fools.”

“If he is our Maker… our Father… should he not love all of his children equally?”  Maeve put a stopper in one of her bottles.  “I think you are closer to the truth than those Chantry Priestesses.”

“Thank you,” Leliana polished one of the arrows.  “Maybe I am wrong, but it is the Maker’s place to decide if I am worthy, not men.  Not the Chantry.  But…” she trailed off as her attention turned.  She’d noticed Balder helping to pour some of the oil along the pathway to the castle.  They would light it as soon as the first zombie was sighted.  Morrigan had sauntered up to him and was speaking quietly to him.  As they watched, she leaned in close to him and ran a finger along his biceps.  “I don’t see how he is falling for her wiles.  He said that there was nothing going on between them but look at the way she fawns over him.  He bought her that mirror… and those clothes.”

“He also bought you shoes and a pretty new dress,” Maeve was still rather certain she’d heard him having amorous congress with Morrigan a few nights before.  He had seemed to be avoiding her for the last two days, though.  Even now, he was ignoring her.

“He did,” Leliana agreed.  “This isn’t the time to worry about it.  I’ll deal with this after we kill a bunch of zombies.  Still, I won’t be anyone’s side piece or girl of the week.”

“Good,” Maeve agreed.

 

 

“Why don’t we go somewhere… private… for a bit,” Morrigan purred in Balder’s ear as he helped pour oil along the path from Redcliffe castle to the village.  After that was done, he would help set up barriers that the walking dead would have to get past. 

He had to admit to himself that part of him did want to take her to one of the abandoned windmills, throw her on the ground, and rut with her.  If he did so again, he would sure to be caught by Leliana and she would not forgive him.  He still hadn’t figured out what he wanted but knew to fear Wynne until he did.  The old mage was right, he needed to decide before he hurt everyone.  “I’m busy, Morrigan, as you can see.”

“Pish posh,” she ran a hand sensuously up his arm.  “The plight of these villagers is not our problem.  We should not be denying ourselves to vainly keep them from the inevitable deaths.”

He looked over to where Leliana prepared to defend those villagers.  She definitely had the kinder heart of the two women.  It was a quality he had always looked for in a future princess before he had been exiled.  She was frowning at him now.  What had he done wrong?  Morrigan stroked his arm again.  Oh, yeah.  He moved away from Morrigan.  “I made it my problem, you could try and help as well.”

Morrigan had followed his gaze and was now watching Leliana as well.  “She’s quite the domesticated little spiritualist, ‘tis she not?  I’ve noticed that you’re spending a great deal of time with that girl… that bard.  You did know she is a bard, didn’t you?”

“She’s a bard?”  Balder thought about it for a moment.  “Yes, I’ve heard her sing often, but I haven’t noticed a lute.  Did she lose it in the cloister.”

“Bards aren’t merely…”  Morrigan began.

“Or did she lose it on the road,” Balder found he had to know.  “You’re sure she plays?  I have to go find out.  We’ll talk again soon.”  He walked away, leaving Morrigan flabbergasted.

“I thought I was talking here,” she turned to a nearby knight.  “You did hear me talking, did you not?”

“I’m sorry, m’lady,” he shook his head.  “Did you say something?”

She threw her hands up in frustration.  “Does no one listen to me?”

“Could you bring me that stack of wood?”  The knight indicated a nearby pile.  “I would like to begin work on the new barriers.”

 

 

Balder rushed to Leliana whose head was now almost touching Maeve’s.  The two women were now watching where Alistair and Wynne worked together and talking softly to each other.  He had a moment where he wondered what Leliana found so interesting about the prince, then realized that it was Maeve whose gaze was held raptly captivated by Alistair.

“He is a cutie,” he heard Leliana softly tell Maeve.

“He’s rather handsome, isn’t he,” Maeve’s cheeks pinked.  “He’s especially cute when he gets confused or flustered.”

“How are his kisses,” Leliana giggled, Balder found the sound rather charming.

“I only have a few to compare them to,” Maeve bit her lip, trying to contain her foolish grin.  “I think his are my favorite, though.”

“Oh, our pretty little Chosen One has a past,” Leliana tittered again.  “Do tell.”

“I’ve been courted by several men,” Maeve tried to sound dignified but failed.  “I let a couple of them get a single kiss in.  Besides, I was married you know.  Cailan and I shared more than one kiss.”

“So I would imagine,” Leliana hemmed.  “He was a king, though, so… wait… did I know you were married to the king?  When did this happen?  What about Anora?”

“Why do you think…” Maeve trailed off when she noticed Balder watching them.  “Hello, how long have you been there?”

Balder tried to think of something to say that would make it seem as if he hadn’t been eavesdropping on the two women.  “Did _I_ know you were married to the king?”  No, that was definitely admitting that he was eavesdropping.

“No, you didn’t,” Maeve was certain.  “Not unless Alistair told you.”

“I thought you were talking to Morrigan,” Leliana’s voice was light, yet held a current of anger and jealousy.

“Morrigan was talking to me,” he corrected.  “I believe she is trying to get out of doing any work.  I don’t think it’s laziness as much as apathy.  She… she mentioned something to me, that made me realize I needed to talk to you, Leliana.”

Leliana threw an arm around Maeve, making it clear she was not leaving her friend’s side.   “So talk.”

“Morrigan said you were a bard,” he began.  “Do you tell stories and play songs?  Where is your lute?”

“Morrigan talks too much,” Leliana decided.  “My last lute is still somewhere in Orlais.  I… had to leave it behind when I left.”

“Why didn’t you say something, Leliana,” Maeve frowned.  “There was a music store on Kinloch Island.  We could have gotten you a new lute.”

“We had other concerns, no?”  Leliana reminded her.  “Like now.  A new lute is a small thing in comparison to serving the maker.  My silver tipped arrows will sing tonight and I with them,” she held up some of the arrows she had made.  “Especially when they carry a flame to set the unholy dead on fire.”


	47. The Battle of Redcliffe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zombies attack Redcliffe. Later, Maeve has more dream visits.

Maeve watched the sun dip below the clouded horizon and darkness washed over the land.

“They should be coming soon,” Sir Perth predicted.

Maeve turned to watch the pathway.  The knights lit the oil, drenching the nearby path in fire.  The flames reflected in Maeve’s eyes as she watched them dance.  “Leliana,” she didn’t have to look at her friend to know she was there.  “I have heard rumors about Orlesian Bards.”

“Oh what have you heard?”  Leliana’s voice was light.

“I heard they were spies for the nobles and empress,” Maeve responded.  She drew out one of her swords and spread a flame coating on it.  Once it came in contact with an opponent, flames would ignite.

“And you believe everything you hear?”  Leliana giggled.  “What was the source of these rumors?”

“I read about it in a history book,” she admitted.  “They spoke of how the Orlesian Minstrels were spies and assassins.”

“And you didn’t think this could be just history?”  Leliana challenged.

“History often has a great bearing on present day,” Maeve countered. 

“Not all minstrels are spies, most are just singers and storytellers.  But some are what we call bards,”  Leliana set a bowl filled with oil already set aflame on a pedestal beside her.  She’d had some of the villagers bring it before they’d fled to the chantry.

“I thought minstrels were bards,” Maeve admitted.

“Many use the two words ‘minstrel’ and ‘bard’ interchangeably, but to do so in Orlais would cause misunderstanding,” Leliana explained.  “Bards are minstrels, and more.  Spies, as you say.  Some say there is a bard order, but I don’t think this is true.  Many bards work alone, or in small groups, doing the bidding of their patron, who pays for their services.  If there is an organization behind it all, no one knows who they are.”

“So they do spy and assassinate,” Maeve deduced.

“Sometimes they infiltrate, steal… yes, sometimes they assassinate,” she admitted.  “It depends on the bard.  In Orlais there is much rivalry amongst the high-born.  They fight over land, influence, and favor of the empress.  But they cannot do this openly, because it’s impolite, and in public they were smiling faces and pretend to be civil.”

“Ah, yes, the Great Game as they call it,” Maeve had heard of it before.  She was a Ferelden noble, after all.  “Here we stab you in the back ourselves, that’s what Fereldens consider polite.  Hiring someone to do your killing for you is so… Orlesian.  You do know an awful lot about bards... especially for someone who had just been trying to convince me she was merely a minstrel.”  She drew her other sword as the zombies began to shamble down the path.

“And I should know a lot about them, shouldn’t I, after having spent most of my adult life as one?”  She lit an arrow and released it, striking a zombie between the eyes.  “You’ve guessed as much, I’m sure.”  She shot a second arrow.  “But does it really matter what I was?  What’s past is past.  The excitement of the life wears off very quickly, I’m afraid.”

“How did you end up as a novice nun in Lothering?”  Maeve watched as the first wave of zombies mindlessly ambled into the fire. 

“I… found myself in Ferelden and sheltered from the bad weather in the convent,” Leliana’s face belied her casual story.  Something terrible had happened.  “And when the storm passed, I just… didn’t want to leave.”

Maeve realized that it was not just a literal storm she was talking about.  “I see.  They kept you safe and warm, didn’t they?”

“They did,” Leliana continued to put arrows in the walking dead.  “I like to say the Maker brought me here.”

“The people of Ferelden better be grateful to him then,” a zombie made it through the flames and Maeve immediately cut him down.  More of his brethren were either being roasted in the fire or picked off by archers.

“I feel a bit superfluous,” Alistair admitted as came up behind Maeve and wrapped his shield arm around her, kissing her cheek.

“I feel better knowing you have my back,” she assured him.  They watched the knights cut down another zombie that had made it through.  There was a respite as no more could be seen.  The knights began to chant.  “Huh, maybe we won’t have to stay up all night.”

“We can hope,” Alistair agreed.  One of Eamon’s soldiers came running to them.  “Or we could have our normal luck.”

“The monsters are attacking from the lake!”  He reported, his voice was unusually loud and high pitched.  “They’re attacking the barricades!  We need help!  Come on!  He turned and ran back to the village.  “We need to hurry!”

“He isn’t even waiting to see if we go with him, is he?”  Balder observed.

“Nope,” Maeve agreed.

“Good,” Morrigan declared.  “We can just stay up here.”

“No,” Maeve let out a long-suffering sigh.  “We have to go save more villagers.”

“Because we’re the good guys,” Alistair grinned at her.

“Yes we are,” she raised on her toes to kiss his nose.  “Come on, my prince.”

 

 

When they arrived where the militia defended the town's square behind a set of a barrier, they were surrounded by the walking dead.

“Murdock isn’t only sexist, he’s a bad strategist,” Maeve observed as she beheaded one zombie after another, it was as if she was playing billiards and the town square was the table she was knocking balls around in.

Alistair and Balder jumped between the barricades to protect the militia, as they killed zombie after zombie.  Leliana continued to fight, pulling out a dagger when one got too close.  She looked down at the weapon, shook her head, and picked up the club of a fallen militiaman and used it to wail on the zombie until it was truly dead again.

Morrigan loosed on fireball after another, felling the foul creature.

“They’re coming from the river,” Maeve realized.  “They must have walked it from the castle.  This is a great time for the Calenhad Monster not to be doing its job.  That creature has one job and he couldn’t do it when we needed him to.”

“Are you sure ‘tis not,” Morrigan challenged.  “Perhaps its belly is full of these creatures.  Besides, ‘tis a she.”

“It’s possible,” Maeve conceded as she cut one of the creatures in two.  She stumbled, tripping over a body.  Looking down, she recognized Lloyd.  Oh well, too bad for the former tavern owner.  If he’d given the militiamen a better discount on their drinks, they might have worked harder to save him.

It took another half an hour, but the creatures were soon dead.  The remaining militia members cheered.

Maeve leaned against Alistair.  “What do you say we make our way the chantry and take a nap before Teagan decides he needs us to save those in the castle.”

Alistair slung an arm around here.  “That’s a good idea.  I’m sure you want to loot the bodies of the dead militia members first.”

“You’re right,” she yawned.  “Let’s loot and then sleep.  They’re dead, they don’t need their stuff anymore.”

 

 

They found the doors of the chantry locked and barricaded. 

“That’s thanks for you,” Balder grumbled.  “We save their hides and we can’t even get a place to sleep.”

“We have a more comfortable place anyway,” Maeve reminded them.  She took Alistair’s hand, unconsciously, as she looked around for Murdock.  Somehow, the mayor had survived the battle.  Good for him.  “We’ll be on our boat if you need us,” she informed him.  “We’re going to get some sleep.  We’ll return in the morning.  You may tell the cowards in the chantry if they ever show their faces.

Less than twenty minutes later, they lay in bunks below the decks of their ship.  They were forced to share cabins.  VanHowling slept at Maeve’s feet and she was in a bunk next to Alistair.  Leliana and Balder were also in the room.  Morrigan and Wynne shared the second room.

“Perhaps we should sleep on the deck and give the lovebirds some privacy,” Leliana suggested to Balder.

“I don’t think that would be proper,” Balder objected.  “I admit that I grew up in Orzammar and do not know all of Ferelden’s customs, but I don’t believe we intentionally leave an unmarried pair sharing a room.”

“We have VanHowling as an escort,” Maeve assured him. “Besides, I’m a widow.  I just have to be subtle now.”

“I’ve heard you say that before,” Balder recalled.  “Who was your husband.”

Maeve purposely avoided the question.  “Leliana, tell me a bedtime story.”

Leliana laughed.  “Very well.  There was a man from Denerim who was traveling to Lothering.  As he travelled through the countryside, it began to rain; as it often does in Ferelden.  He was nearing Edgehill when he passed by a grove of trees when he noticed a beautiful young woman standing under an elm.  She wore a white dress and was shivering from the rain and cold.  Being a gentleman he stopped the carriage and offered her a ride.  She thanked him and climbed in.  He asked her who he was and she told him her name was Annabelle.  She needed to go to the estate of the Earl of Edgehill.”

As the bard told her tale a strange howl echoed along the lake.  “I think the Calenhad Monster has indigestion,” Alistair commented.

“Hush,” Leliana reprimanded him.  You’re interrupting my story.  He agreed to take her.  He noticed that she was unusually pale and had a strange scar around her neck, but was not so rude as to ask how she’d gotten it.  She was cheerful and talked to him about her hobbies and interests.  He fell for her a bit during that ride and was interested in learning who her family was so he could court her.  As he neared the castle, she told him that she wished she’d fallen in love with someone like him.  Then she just disappeared as the carriage stopped, leaving behind the locket that she’d worn around her neck and a note that said _Chandler Christanti, 6633 Monkshood Lane, Edgehill.  You will find the evidence behind a loose brick in the fireplace_.  He took the locket and note to the arl, asking him to find Annabelle for him.  The arl took the locket and tears began streaming down his face.  He told him that the locket had belonged to his daughter, Annabelle, who had been murdered twenty years before.  She had snuck out of the castle to see a boy and her body had been found in a grove of trees on the road to Denerim.  Her throat had been cut, as if the killer tried to make her death look like a vampire attack and failed miserably.  They had been unable to discover who the boy was until then.”

“Did they find him?” Alistair was getting into the story.

Leliana nodded.  “Right where the note said he’d be.  There was not only evidence that he’d killed the earl’s daughter decades before, but several other girls as well.  Annabelle’s ghost was seen when they hung Chandler and seen near the grove since then.  They say she guards it in case any other young women are foolish enough to meet their beaus there.”

“Nice story…”  Maeve faded off to sleep.

 

 

Maeve found herself looking at the street in the Vampire King’s Thaig, the one she knew would take her to him.  She felt a compulsion to follow it, but the compulsion was weak for some reason.

“He’s hunting for you, you know,” the voice was familiar and she turned to see Duncan approaching her.

“Are you really here?”  She turned to walk towards him, seeing a Byronic vampire with the markings and features of a Dalish elf.  “Are you both here.”

“Unfortunately,” he admitted.  “I… I wasn’t lucky enough to die on the battlefield in Ostagar.”

She nodded.  “At least now I can give Alistair definite answers.  What about…”  She hesitated to bring up Alistair and Cailan’s names in the same breath.  “What about Cailan?”

“He died, your highness,” Duncan admitted.

“She doesn’t have to marry the Vampire King, no matter what he wants,” the Dalish elf pointed out.  “You don’t have to hang that horrid moniker on her.”

“He was referring to my first husband,” Maeve assured her.  “Marry the Vampire King?  Then you know…”

“I know who he thinks you are,” Duncan corrected.  “You aren’t in his powers yet.  You seem resistant now.”

“The…”  She hesitated to give any clues as to her location.  “I’m surrounded by protections right now, yet I still got pulled down here.”

“He’s frustrated that those he sent to hunt you have found no clues,” the Dalish elf explained.  “I’m Dora, by the way.  It’s short for Nymphadora.  My sort-of boyfriend is among those hunting you.  Be careful.”

Maeve nodded and walked slowly away from the Thaig, finding herself in another spot in the Fade.  She found herself in the ruins of a once great structure.  Trees grew in and around it, their leaves creating a canopy that let only filtered sunlight through.  A golden haired couple sat in the middle, in what appeared to be stone thrones.  As she approached, she recognized King Maric.  Beside him was an elven woman in an evening gown.  “Your Majesty,” she swept down into a deep curtsy in front of the king.

“You married my first born and have one the heart of my second, you of all people do not need to curtsy so low for me,” he took her hand and guided her to a broken wall to sit down.  “I came to talk to you about your situation.”

“That there is a group of vampires hunting me for the Vampire King?”  She settled on the rubble, crossing her ankles.  It was then that she saw she was now wearing a deep green gown of her own with heeled ankle boots.  They were cute, embroidered with black roses and leaves.”

“You’re being hunted by vampires?”  The king’s companion leaned forward.  “Are you safe?”

“I have magical and holy wards surrounding me at the moment, Lady…”  She had no idea who this woman at the old king’s side was.

“Katriel,” she supplied.  “I was…”

“She was my great love,” Maric confessed.  “I… well, I…”

“He gave into Loghain’s whisperings and acted out of anger, which I _did_ deserve,” Katriel sighed.  “It’s what split Loghain and Rowan.  Loghain wanted her to be queen, though, and I was in the way.”

“As you are in Anora’s way,” Maric added.  “Make sure you stay there.”

“How am I in Anora’s way?”  Maeve wondered.  “Cailan is dead, as is the priestess who performed our ceremony and most of the witnesses.”

“But not all and written history is harder to erase than oral,” Maric pointed out.  “It’s why we write down the truth.  There is a record of the marriage still.  Go to Ostagar and recover it, along with Cailan’s body.  He will not be able to rest without proper rites and without his mortal body being sent back to the Maker.  That is not the only reason you are in her, and Loghain’s, way, though.”

“How else?”  She began playing with a small piece of the rubble beside her.

“If… when… you wake Eamon up, he is going to insist on making Alistair king,” Maric revealed.  “He’s the only Theirin left and his father died to protect the Theirin claim to the throne.  He’d… well, he’d been an Orlesian sympathizer, or lackey, before he met my mother.  She helped him see the light.  Eamon isn’t going to let that sacrifice be in vain.  He’ll do all he can to keep my family in power.”

“Alistair should take the throne,” Maeve agreed.  “The Guerrins have always wanted to play king maker and be the power behind the throne, but that doesn’t mean they are wrong about the bloodlines.  The next family in line are the Couslands and I’m the only one of them left.”

“Exactly,” Maric smiled.  “Which is why you are the perfect bride for my son, both politically and personally.”

“You love him, don’t you?”  Katriel pressed.

“I…”  Maeve examined her own feelings.  “Yes, I do.”

“Don’t you dare throw away love like I did… twice,” Maric took her hands.  “And don’t let my son throw it away.  Eamon is going to press for a marriage between Alistair and Anora.”

“That self-righteous, barren hag?”  Maeve’s jaw clenched and she began breathing heavily through her nostrils.  “Over my ashes, he will.  She is not touching a hair on his head.  The shrew.”

Katriel grinned at her own love.  “I don’t think we have to worry, my dearest.”

Maric grinned as well.  “No, we don’t.  So we can count on you to stand up to Earl Eamon?”

“He’ll be lucky if I don’t challenge him to a duel when does suggest it,” she was still fuming.  “I should just go and cut the head from the snake’s body right now.”

“You need his help against Loghain and the Vampire King,” Maric reminded her.  “I hope my grandchildren get your courage and determination, though.”

The thought of having Alistair’s children flashed through her mind and she found she liked it.  “You’re right, I need him.  I’m going to watch him, though.”

“That’s what I want to hear,” Maric grinned at her.

            “You can explore our lovely little ruin as long as you want,” Katriel offered.  “This place is so old, the Fade doesn’t even represent it as it once was any longer.  I’m determined to learn what it was, but have met no one who remembers it.”

            “I’m going to return to my favorite pass time, which is haunting Loghain,” Maric commented.  “He’s sent an Antivan Crowe after you by the way.  I think it would be funny if you sent the Crowe’s head back to him.  It’s just a suggestion, though.  Oh, I saw your father.  He says to be careful.”

            Maeve watched the dignified past king of Ferelden wave jovially at her.  Life had gotten strange.


	48. Reflected in a Crystal Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Urthemiel searches for his mate. There IS someone blocking him.

Urthemiel stared into a crystal ball, looking at the woman his soul cried out for.  She lay, asleep, looking ethereal.  He’d called out to her every night, but his calls had been blocked.  Now, she’d been reached, but would not come to him.

            He used the ball to look for that lovely, bright soul she possessed.  It was in the Fade, she was not truly asleep.  She’d been able to use holy items to divert his call and was there talking to someone else instead.  As he watched, a blonde man with a simple gold crown  moved into view.  He wondered what the dead king of Ferelden’s father wanted with his love.

            The Vampire King turned to one of his generals.  “Has there been any word from those I’ve sent to bring back my bride?”

            “No, Your Majesty,” Jean-Luc bowed.

            “Why not!”  Urthemiel glared at him.  He ran a finger along the ribbon wound around his left wrist to calm himself.  He could imagine tying it around Maeve’s wrist and tying her to their bed as he thrust himself into her warm and willing body and she writhed in ecstasy beneath him.  Soon, he promised himself.

            “It has been less than a week, My Lord,” Jean-Luc reminded him.  “I have learned that King Loghain has sent an Antivan Crowe after her and he can’t find her, either.”

            “He what?”  Urthemiel shot to his feet but cradled the crystal ball carefully.  He didn’t want to have the image of her break.  She was now standing in a ruin, just exploring.  She was still in the Fade and would return to her body soon enough.  For now, she had an avid expression on her face as she investigated her surroundings.  He would enjoy watching her discover the secrets of the Deep Roads.  After they remade Thedas, they could uncover its mysteries together.  First, he had to get her to him.  Not just her shade, but her.  Then he had a feeling he would be keeping her in his bed, creating those New God children for some time as his unholy children of the night ravaged those above.  That would be enjoyable, too.

            He let out a gasp of shock as a mist moved in, blocking his view of Maeve.  He wasn’t sure if the mist was in the Fade or the ball, but he would discover if someone was keeping sight of her from him.

 

 

            Tara looked up at her companion.  “He was watching her.  I blocked him for now.  I will continue to as long as I can.  We’ll do our part to protect her from him.


	49. Redcliffe Remains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The villagers of Redcliffe celebrate still being alive, but Isolde wants Teagan to return to the castle.

Maeve found herself standing in front of the chantry early the next morning.  Alistair had gently dragged her out of bed and handed her a cup of coffee.  “Dreams again?”  She’d just nodded and let him lead her back to the town square.

            “Where’s my coffee?”  Wynne wondered as she slowly followed them, wiping fatigue from her eyes.

            “Did you know that you snore, Wynne?” Morrigan grumbled.

            Teagan had unbolted the chantry’s doors and emerged.  She just glared at him over her cup of coffee.  The coward had probably gotten a good night’s rest.  Alistair put an arm around her and joined the glare.

            “There you are, my friends,” the bann beamed at them.  “It is wonderful to see you this bright morning.”  He turned to Murdock who was slowly lumbering towards them.  “Report.”

            “I lost half my men and a tavern keeper, otherwise we made it through,” he grumbled.  “We defeated the walking dead and I managed to get… well… a nap… I need more sleep.”

            “Yes, yes,” Teagan patted him on the back.  “Let’s address the town’s folk first, shall we?  They must know of our victory.”

            “ _Our?_ ”  Balder fingered his axe.

            Those who had saved the village were forced to stand in front of the chantry, while Teagan had the town’s folk gathered.  At least the reverend mother brought out toasted bread and fruit for them.

            Soon, Teagan stood in front of his assembled masses and placed Maeve and Alistair, along with their friends behind him.  VanHowling grumbled at the positioning.  “Dawn arrives, and we survived the night.  We are victorious!”

            The crowd, most of whom had hidden in cellars or the chantry, cheered.

            “And though this victory came at great cost, we must remember that none of us would be here if not for the heroism of these good folk beside me,” he continued.  He turned to look at Maeve.  “I thank you, dear lady.  Truly the Marker smiled on us, especially me, when he sent you to us in our darkest hour.  If there is anything I can do for you, _anything_ , just let me know.”

            “We still have to find out what caused those creatures to rise and what is happening at the castle,” Maeve reminded him.  “This was just the first step.”

            “You are as wise as you are beautiful, Lady Maeve,” he bowed to her.  “We shall discuss that soon.”  He faltered as Alistair shot him a warning look over Maeve’s head.

            Reverend Mother Hannah saw the look and thought it time to intervene.  “Let us all bow our heads and give honor to those who gave their lives in defense of Redcliffe.”

            “Lloyd, purveyor of watered down drinks at too high of a price, we salute you,” Teagan intoned.  “Brittany, spreader of… affection… and diseases… we will miss you.  Kay Peele, town comedian and playwrite, you shall be missed most of all.  Scott Martin…”

            “You and others who have perished here, walk with He who is your Maker,” the reverend mother interrupted him.  “Long may you know the peace of his love.”

            “So let it be,” Maeve intoned with the rest of the village.

            “With the Maker’s favor, the blow that we delivered today is enough for me to enter the castle and seek out your earl,” Teagan continued.  “Be wary and watch for signs of renewed attack.  We shall return with news as soon as we are able.”  He turned back to Maeve.  “Now, we’ve no time to waste.  Meet me at the mill.  We can talk further there.”

            “We’ll be there,” Maeve watched Teagan leave.  “In a few hours,” she added when she was out of ear shot.  She then walked into the chantry and found the little boy she was looking for.  “Here,” she handed him his father’s sword.  “I want you to practice with this daily until you can hold it without any difficulty.”

            “Yes, ma’am,” he hugged her.  “Thank you for saving my people.”

            She returned the hug and turned to see Alistair smiling at her.  “What?”

            He just shook his head and leaned in to kiss her cheek.  “I’m a lucky man.”

            “Yes, you are,” Morrigan sniffed.  “Now let’s go get a real breakfast before that baron has us fighting his battles again.  Balder, you will need to appoint someone to run that inn in your stead.”

 

 

            Morrigan was decidedly unhappy when Balder told Bella she was in charge of the inn.  The barmaid threw her arms around the dwarf’s neck and gave him a long drawn out kiss.

            “The nerve of that Slaturn,” Leliana hissed.

            Balder turned to see all four women in his group glaring at him.  Alistair and VanHowling were just shaking their heads.  “What?”

            “Just get us breakfast from your new tavern when you’re done making out with the barmaid,” Maeve ordered.  “Something with eggs and bacon.”

            “Yes, If you have finished letting that second rate hussy slobber all over you,” Morrigan agreed.

            “And some Antivan coffee, if your lips are finally free,” Leliana added.

            “Young man, are we going to need to have another talk?”  Wynne was none too happy either.

 

 

            After they had eaten, Maeve’s group met Teagan at the windmill.  It was weathered and creaking as it slowly turned.  “What took you so long?”  He wondered.  “I’m anxious to find out what is going on in the castle and help my family.  I haven’t slept in my own bed in weeks.”

            “Slept… weeks?”  Balder stroked the shaft of his axe.

            “It’s odd how quiet the castle looks right now,” Teagan was unaware of the dwarf’s ire.  “You’d think there was no one in there at all.  But I shouldn’t delay things further.  I had a plan… to enter the castle after the village was secure.”

            “You would have been waiting around for some time if we had not come,” Morrigan pointed out.  “Indeed, if Maeve had not decided to stay, you would still be waiting.”

            “You are right,” he admitted.  “Luckily, you are here now.”  He turned to Maeve.  “There is a secret passage here, in the mill, accessible only to my family.”

            “Why haven’t you gone in before or told us earlier?”  Maeve wondered.

            “I had no idea what lurked in the castle!”  Teagan made excuses.  “And I couldn’t abandon the people of the village!  What if…”  He stopped talking, likely because his jaw had dropped open.  “Maker’s Breath!”

            That was when Maeve was aware of a loud clanking sound and deep breathing.  She turned to see a blonde woman in expensive clothing running towards them.  She was the one who was breathing hard.  Behind her was a man who was dressed in the uniform of a soldier of Redcliffe.  He had so many metals hanging from the front of his uniform jacket that they were making the clanking sound as he ran along.  As the woman reached them, she stopped and took several deep breaths; her hands on her knees.

            Then the woman stood upright again.  “Teagan!”  She seemed unaware that anyone else was there.  Thank the Maker you yet live.”  She clung to his tunic, her tears of relief flowing.

            “Isolde!”  He hugged her briefly.  “You’re alive!  How did you…?  What happened?”

            The soldier tried to step forward, but Isolde moved to block him.  “I do not have much time to explain!  I snuck out of the castle as soon as I saw the battle was over and I must return quickly.  And I…”  She looked around, and then lowered her voice.  “I need you to come with me, Teagan.  Alone.”

            “Alone?  That seems foolish,” Maeve pointed out.  “Why don’t we all just go to the castle and get to the bottom of this trouble now?”

            “What?”  Isolde was affronted.  “I… who is this woman, Teagan.”

            “Oh, way to know your fellow nobles of Ferelden, Isolde,” Maeve cocked her head and lifted her eyes to glare at Isolde.  “You were at Lady Edgehall’s last Satinalia ball.  Everyone remembers, because you were extremely drunk.  You were so drunk that you threw up on her favorite rose bush while enjoying her gardens.  Does that ring any bells?  Please tell me you just lost your memory performing some ritual, or after being caught in a sudden, harsh storm and that you aren’t just ignorant of your husband’s peers.”

            “This is Lady Maeve Cousland, the daughter of Duke Bryce Cousland and Duchess Eleonore,” Teagan reminded his sister-in-law.  “She is… was… on my list of…”   He turned red.  “On my list of acceptable ladies to court.  You might remember that Eamon said she was out of even my league.”

            “No one’s out of your league, Teagan,” Isolde glared back at Maeve.

            Alistair let out a long-suffering sigh.  “You remember me, Lady Isolde, don’t you?”

            “Alistair,” Isolde sniffed and wrinkled her nose as if smelling something nasty.  “Of all the… why are you here?”

            “We’re here because your own troops are ineffective,” Maeve answered, bristling.  “Your town was being consumed by zombies and only a militia and a handful of knights did anything.  I think the words you are looking for are ‘thank and you’.”

            “They are Crimson Wardens, Isolde,” Teagan interrupted.  “I owe them my life.”

            “I am not a Crimson Warden,” Maeve spoke up. 

            “I would like to continue to exchange pleasantries,” Isolde looked to Alistair and Maeve, but… considering the situation…”

            “She calls those pleasantries?”  Leliana rolled her eyes.

            “Please, Lady Isolde,” Alistair spoke up again.  “We had no idea anyone was alive in the castle.”

            “Nor did we care,” Morrigan added.

            “We need some answers,” Alistair ignored his acerbic companion.

            “I know you need more of an explanation,” she conceded.  Then she looked up at Teagan, placing her hands on his chest.  “But I… don’t know what is safe to tell.  Teagan, there is a terrible evil within the castle.  The dead walk and hunt the living.  The mage responsible was caught, but still the terror continues.  And I think… Connor has gone mad.  We survive, but he won’t flee the castle.  He has seen so much death.  You must help him, Teagan.  You are his uncle, you could reason with him.  I do not know what else to do.”

            “Is Earl Eamon still alive?”  Maeve didn’t want to think of someone lying helpless in their bed while the undead crawled about.

            “He is,” Isolde assured them.  “He is being kept alive so far.  Thank the Maker.”

            “Kept alive?”  Teagan repeated the words, letting them sink in.  “Kept alive by what? How?”

            “Something the mage unleashed,” Isolde continued to blame the nameless mage for her troubles.  “So far it allows Connor, Eamon, and myself to live.”

            “So this evil has attached itself to your family,” Morrigan deduced.  “’Tis obvious that one of you either summoned it or it has been part of your family all along.”

            “That is an impertinent suggestion!”  Isolde snapped at Morrigan.  She then turned back to Teagan, laying her head against his shoulder.  “The others were not so fortunate.  It’s killed so many, and turned their bodies into walking nightmares!  Once it was done with the castle, it started on the village.  It allows us to live, but I don’t know why.  It allowed me to come for you, Teagan, because I begged.  Because I said Connor needed help.”

            “That sounds like a family centralized curse or demonic haunting all right,” Maeve agreed with Morrigan.  “If it would let her come because Connor wanted his uncle, it may be the boy that the demon has attached himself to.”

            “Would just killing him help?”  Morrigan suggested.

            “What!”  Isolde didn’t like what she was hearing.

            “We may have to kill the entire family to save Redcliffe,” Maeve shrugged.  “What a shame.”

            “Wait!  What?”  Alistair stared at the two women.  “You can’t be serious.”

            Maeve patted his shoulder.  “You are a Crimson Warden and trained as a Templar, you’ve read about these things, too.  We’ll try not to kill the entire family, of course.  That would just be a tragic waste,” they still needed Earl Eamon and his army.  “I’m just trying to be realistic about what is happening here.”

            “Maeve,” Alistair’s voice was tense.

            She sighed.  “Let’s make sure to bring in a lot of salt.  We’ll try banishing this thing… first.”

            “I am only taking Teagan with me,” Isolde insisted.  “It… it said only him.”

            Teagan took Maeve’s hands in his own.  “I must go with her, as much as it breaks my heart to part company with you.”

            “I’m sorry, did you miss the part where this is obviously a trap?” Maeve looked at him askance.

            “If Connor is in trouble, I must go,” he insisted.

            Maeve had lost her own nephew not long before and empathized with him, but something was definitely off about Isolde’s story.  Still, she couldn’t stop the man.  Her concerns were gaining the support of Eamon’s army and getting rid of the Walking Dead.  “Fine, I hope you’re still alive when I get into the castle.”

            “As do I,” he agreed.  He handed her a ring.  “This will open the secret passage in the mill.  Sneak in and find me, find Eamon.”  He ignored the warning glare Alistair shot his way as he followed Isolde to the castle gates.

            “In Orlais we would call him an… idiot,” Leliana decided.

            “That’s what we call people like him in Ferelden, too,” Maeve shook her head.  “Let’s go infiltrate the castle.”

            “Into the belly of the beast,” Alistair muttered as they descended into a dimly lit, tight tunnel.


	50. Oh, Maker, Here My Cry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maeve and company take care of Castle Redcliffe's zombie and demon problems.

As Maeve’s group moved through the dim and dark underbelly of Redcliffe Castle, they noticed that all of the holy symbols had been smashed.  “This place is ripe for a vampire attack,” Wynne observed.

            The cold stone rooms held only the undead and despair.  The heroes cut a swath through them.  Although, they did stop to mourn the mabari who had been turned.  VanHowling let out a long howl, notifying the Maker that the Chosen Pups were on their way.  They also found one of the Countess’ maids in a room, screaming her head off.  They sent her through the family tunnel and back to Redcliffe Town.  Maeve hoped she had some family left in the village.

            They also found the castle chapel.  Along with the zombies they slew, there were a handful of shades and even a demon.  Something dark had happened there.

            “What is Isolde into?”  Maeve wondered out loud as she slew the demon.

            There was also a small break when Maeve lock picked the door to Earl Eamon’s treasury and they helped themselves to a few weapons and the gold. 

            “Won’t he be upset at being robbed?”  Balder objected. 

            “One, he’s been poisoned and zombies overran his castle and two, he should be grateful we aren’t charging him more,” Maeve pointed out.

            “Taverns and supplies aren’t cheap,” Leliana added.  “Neither are holy items.”

            “’Tisn’t like you are paying for those,” Morrigan pointed out.  “You are going in and stealing them from the Chantry.”

            “That’s beside the point,” Leliana picked up a dagger with a gemmed gold hilt and stuck it in her belt.”

            “You don’t have to take anything if this makes you uncomfortable,” Alistair was examining an engraved crossbow.  “We need supplies, though.”

            Balder looked to Wynne, the mage didn’t seem happy about the looting, either.  However, she remained silent.   “Fine, but we should hurry if we want to save Teagan.”

            “Isolde’s too obsessed with him to allow that to happen,” Maeve assured them.  “You should see the way she glares at him when he dances with other women at balls.  I’m surprised Eamon isn’t suspicious of them.”

            “She wouldn’t cheat on Eamon,” Alistair was sure of it.

            “Perhaps not, but she doesn’t seem to look at Teagan like a brother,” Maeve countered as she picked up a gold and diamond tiara, wondering if it had been Rowan’s or something Isolde wanted to wear.  She stuck it in her pack.

            “We still need to get to him,” Alistair urged.  “I don’t know what this dark force is, but it worries me.”

 

 

            When Maeve’s group reached the courtyard, they opened the gate; letting Sir Perth and his men in.  Together, they rushed the main hall.  What they found there gave them pause.

            Teagan was performing a dance for those gathered.  It was an awkward polka that ended with him attempting to do a flip, which failed.  He recovered and lifted his arms waving them.  There was a blankness to his expression the entire time as if he did not realize what he was doing.

            “I never noticed that Teagan was such a terrible dancer,” Alistair observed. 

            “I still have yet to see your Remigold,” Maeve reminded him.  “I hope it’s better than Teagan’s… should I call it dancing?”

            “Oh, it is,” Alistair assured her.

            “Again!  Again!”  The child floating a foot from the ground apparently enjoyed the show.  His hair was a sandy blonde and his eyes glowed red.  Isolde was beside him, looking distressed but calm.

            “Sweet Maker!”  Maeve grabbed a bottle of holy water out of her pack and lobbed it at the diabolic specter.  

The water splashed him, causing him to scream and lower to the ground.  “Why are you trying to hurt me?  Mother,” it addressed Isolde.  “Do something about this.”

Alistair lashed out with Smite, knocking the possessed child to the ground.  Leliana rushed forward, pulling salt out of her pack and spreading it around Connor before he could move.

“This was the evil you spoke of?” Maeve looked down at the boy.

“He’s not himself,” Isolde wrung her hands. 

“Good job stating the obvious, genius,” sarcasm dripped from Maeve’s voice.  “Did the demon possessing him to raise those zombies?”

“It’s all the fault of that mage who was tutoring Connor to use his magic,” Isolde insisted.  “ _He_ did this.  He poisoned Eamon and…”

“And I allowed the demon in to cure father,” Connor tried to stand and moved past the salt barrier, but could not.  He crawled, but could not get past the circle that Leliana had drawn.  He growled at her.  “Release me, puny mortal.  You are no priestess, just a scared little girl running from her ex.”

“He says he did it,” Maeve pointed to where Connor crawled in his salt circle.

“He’s just a little boy,” Isolde insisted.

“Teagan,” Connor growled to his uncle.  “Get me out of this.”

Teagan walked towards the group, but Balder hit him with the flat of his axe, knocking him out.

“Wynne,” Alistair took over.  “Find candles made from the wax of Andrastian bees, Andraste’s Grace, elf root, and an Amulet with Andraste’s holy symbol.”

“I have all of those,” Leliana pulled one after the other out of her pack.

“Where did you get them?”  Wynne was surprised.

“I’ve been looting every chantry we have passed for holy items,” Leliana freely admitted.  “We are fighting vampires, after all.”

Alistair nodded at her.  Leliana placed the Candles outside of the salt and lit them.  Then she placed the elf root, prophet’s laurel, and Andraste’s Grace in an incense burner and lit it.  She then placed the burner inside the circle and stepped in carefully to put the amulet around Conner’s neck.  It began to grow black, but then glowed as the pure silver fought against the unholy creature inside the child.

“Leliana,” Balder took a step forward when Leliana had stepped in the circle.  When she was done, she let him take her hand and lead her out.

Then Alistair stepped forward, pulling on his training as a Templar.  “In the name of the Maker and his Bride, Andraste, I command you to leave the child-creature of darkness.”

Connor laughed.  “He is mine, as is the rest of this wretched town.”

Alistair didn’t blink, but began to recite:

_Eyes sorrow-blinded, in darkness unbroken_  
There 'pon the mountain, a voice answered my call.  
"Heart that is broken, beats still unceasing,  
An ocean of sorrow does nobody drown.  
You have forgotten, spear-maid of Alamarr.  
Within My creation, none are alone."  
  


Connor screamed and writhed.  Soldiers under the thrall of the child possessing demon began to pour into the room, only to be felled by Balder and Maeve as they protected those performing the exorcism.

__  
Lo! My eyes open'd, shining before me  
Greater than mountains, towering mighty,  
Hand all outstretch'd, stars glist'ning as jewels  
From rings 'pon His fingers and crown 'pon His brow.  
  
Sword-shattering fear filled me overflowing.  
Grandeur of godhood no gaze should defile.  
Trembling, I called out: "Forgive me, Most High,  
I should sing Your Name to the heights of heaven,  
But I know it not, and must be silent."  
The Wellspring of All said, "None now remember.  
Long have they turned to idols and tales  
Away from My Light, in darkness unbroken  
The last of My children, shrouded in night."

Connor screamed again, but no new soldiers came in.

“Maybe he’s weakening,” Balder hoped.

“’Tis just as likely you have slain all of those under his thrall,” Morrigan pointed out.

“Aren’t you just full of cheer,” Wynne muttered. __  
  


_World fell away then, misty in mem'ry,_  
'Cross Veil and into the valley of dreams  
A vision of all worlds, waking and slumb'ring,  
Spirit and mortal to me appeared.  
"Look to My work," said the Voice of Creation.  
"See what My children in arrogance wrought."

Connor grew silent.

“That’s it, he’s saved,” Isolde began to run to her son, but Leliana held her back.

“If you try to undo our work, I will kill you myself,” Leliana’s words were matter of fact.

Alistair just continued. __  
  
There I saw the Black City, towers all stain'd,  
Gates once bright golden forever shut.  
Heav'n filled with silence, then did I know all  
And cross'd my heart with unbearable shame.

The boy now breathed heavily, but the only other sound was Alistair’s recitation of the canticle. __  
  
  
Then did I see the world spread before me,  
Sky-reaching mountains arrayed as a crown,  
Kingdoms like jewels, glistering gemstones  
Strung 'cross the earth as a necklace of pearl.  
"All this is yours," spake the World-Maker.  
"Join Me in heaven and sorrow no more."

“I’m back, Cousin Alistair,” Connor’s voice had changed.  Alistair didn’t stop, though. __  
  
"World-making Glory," I cried out in sorrow,  
"How shall your children apology make?  
We have forgotten, in ignorance stumbling,  
Only a Light in this darken'd time breaks.  
Call to Your children, teach us Your greatness.  
What has been forgotten has not yet been lost."

Alistair glanced at Leliana, who nodded and drew out another bottle of holy water. __  
  
Long was his silence, 'fore it was broken.  
"For you, song-weaver, once more I will try.  
To My children venture, carrying wisdom,  
If they but listen, I shall return."

Leliana stepped carefully into the circle.  “Open your mouth.”

“I’m fine now, I don’t need to drink that filth,” Connor insisted.

Leliana knelt beside him and forced his mouth open, pouring the water down his throat.  Connor screamed and writhed.  Then lay still as steam seemed to pour back out of his mouth.  The steam took form and solidified into the form a gaunt, naked woman with horns, leathery wings, and a tail.  Alistair stepped into the circle, holding his shield aloft and beheaded the demon.  As the head bounced on the wooden floors, the woman’s beautiful face became grotesque.  He stepped back out and left Connor alone in the salt circle, whimpering.  Alistair then went in and anointed Connor’s forehead, chest, hands, and feet.  “I anoint you with the holy oil of the Maker, so your mind may be free to discern His truth from the lies of His enemies.”  He continued his pronouncements with each new anointing.

Leliana then moved back into the circle.  “Connor I need you to repeat after me.  Do you understand?”

The boy nodded weakly.

“Good,” She began to recite:

_O Maker, hear my cry:_  
Guide me through the blackest nights.  
Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked.  
Make me to rest in the warmest places.

In a worn, timid voice Connor repeated her words.

“We’ll stay tonight to make sure he is all right,” Alistair declared, as Connor continued to repeat the canticles after Leliana.

“Then we must be on our way,” Maeve insisted.  “Try to keep him from making deals with demons in the future, Isolde.”


	51. Night Companions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is a sleepless night at Redcliffe Castle.

Maeve had eaten dinner in the main dining room with the Guerrins, as well as Morrigan and Balder.  Wynne was worried about Connor and insisted on staying with Alistair and Leliana.  The conversations at the dinner table consisted of Teagan trying to determine whether Maeve would be receptive to his courtship, despite Isolde’s obvious ire at the idea, and Morrigan dropping glaring hints that she wasn’t happy at Balder’s relationship with Leliana and that if he didn’t choose soon, he would be a eunuch.

She was exhausted when she was shown to her own private rooms.  Teagan had insisted on accompanying her to them.  “I could go in and make sure everything is to your liking.”

“No, make sure Alistair and Leliana have pillows and blankets for their vigil tonight,” she insisted.  “Make sure they are all right.”

“Alistair, huh,” he studied her for a moment.  “Are you two…?”

“We’re courting,” she said simply and closed the door.  Someone had provided her with a soft white cotton nightgown.  She slipped it on and plaited her hair in a long, single braid before crawling into the large four poster bed in the middle of the room.

 

 

Maeve had only been asleep for a few moments when she felt herself falling.  She tried to fight the sensation, but could not pull herself out.

“There you are my love,” Urthemiel stood before her.  He was dressed in a black suit with a dark red shirt. 

She looked around and realized that she was in a large room with a table in the middle and old painting on the wall.  There were hundreds of candles on the walls and the floor.  It was a veritable fire hazard.  He took her hand and led her to the table.  In the middle was a large, heavy wrought iron candelabrum and two glasses filled with red liquid.  “Where…?”  She knew.  She was in his kingdom, the Thaig he used as his capital in the Deep Roads.

“You are in my… our… kingdom, my love,” he looked down at her clothes and shook his head, tsking.  “This is very proper for you to wear to bed, my dearest.  Not for when we’re alone, though.”  He leaned in and gently kissed her cheek.  His closeness and the feel of him against her made her head spin.  When he straightened, her hair was unbound as her curls tumbled down her back in a crimson cascade.  She wore a dress that reminded her of the one the seamstress in Lothering had called Victim wear.  It was soft gold.  The neck was low cut and came a bit off of the shoulder.  There was only a little sleeve.  There was a pleated underskirt.  The lift that showed it off on one side was lined with gold and dark peach faux flowers.  “That’s better.”

She looked down.  “It isn’t comfortable enough to sleep in.”

He laughed.  “I didn’t bring you here to… sleep.”  He guided her to the table.  “It’s all right, that is wine.  It is very potent, though, as it has been stored down here in the Deep Roads for hundreds of years.  I think one of the other Vampire Kings started a cellar before those foul Crimson Wardens killed him.  Are you hungry, dearest?  I could have food brought.”

“I’ve had dinner, thank you,” she sat down and looked down at the dress.  She closed her eyes and concentrated.  Her clothing transformed.  She was now wearing a black underdress with a dark cream, with black print, overdress.  The back of the skirt was swaged, revealing more of the underskirt.  The neckline was now more boxed and laced, rather than flowers with a back that came up to cover part of the back of her neck.  There were three-fourths sleeves.  Around her neck was a dark cream and black choker and there was a golden, carved comb in her hair.  The decorative comb sat among the trio of braids that held her curls up.

Urthemiel laughed softly.  “I am delighted that you have shown me how well you can take control, my love.  I look forward to experiencing in other… venues.”  The look in his eyes made clear just what type of venue that would be.

Maeve took a drink to cover up how much the look both excited her and made her nervous.  “Why are you obsessing about me?  I may not be your chosen Mate.”

Urthemiel’s laugh was louder this time.  “Oh, you are.  Do you think I can’t tell?  I see not only your beautiful exterior, but your delightful soul as well.  It gives my soul joy.”  He stood and took her hand, pulling her to her feet and into his arms.  He began leading her in a waltz across the room.  Maeve was disturbed at just how much she was enjoying the feel of his hand on her waist as left hand held her right.  He was looking into her eyes, intently.  “Do you not feel it, love?  The pull?  The part of you that screams that you are supposed to be with me?  I know you felt it before when I held you.”

She tried to deny the attraction, but could not.  He called to a dark part of her, a part that reveled in danger and debauchery.  She wasn’t sure that it was a part of her she even wanted to acknowledge, but there was no way of disputing its existence at the moment.  Instead, she tried to concentrate on something else.  “Why are we dancing if there is no music?”

“You want music, my delectable creature of the night?”  He waved his hand and music did indeed permeate the air as he continued to glide her perfectly around the candles.

“How…?”  She began.

“I _am_ a god,” he assured her.  “There are many things I can do; for you, to you.”  His voice made her shiver.  “I watched you today, although you have friends trying to block me.”

“I do?  You were?”  She was both confused by who was blocking him and affronted by his voyeurism.  “You are watching me?  When?  That’s kind of sick.”  She backed out of his arms.  “Do you watch when I’m in the bath?  In the privy?  Yuck.”

“NO!”  He tried to assure her, but she’d pulled out of his arms.

She lifted her skirts and walked away.  That’s when she noticed a door in the wall she was approaching.  She ignored the Vampire King’s protests as she walked through it.  Two large, grotesque, men holding large spears moved to block her.  “Get out of my way,” she commanded.

“Who are you?”  One demanded.  “If the king brought you to his chambers, then that is where you will stay.”

“She’s the queen,” another vampire answered.  This one had hair the hues of chestnut with the sun glinting off of it and, strangely, had a bow slung on her back.  She also wore clothing of the Dalish style and had pointed ears.  “Your Majesty,” the elf reached out and touched her.  “It’s time for you to wake up and get to somewhere safer.”

Maeve gasped as she returned to Redcliffe Castle.

 

 

“What did you just do?”  Debran seethed at Dora.  “You just sent our Master’s Mate away.”

“She didn’t come willingly,” Dora pointed out.  “Let the woman go.”

“NO!”  Stephen, the other guard pointed his spear at Dora.  “You will go to the king and tell him what you have done.  Then you will join the hunt for the future queen.”

“No, no I won’t,” Dora unslung her bow and shot two arrows off at the same time, impaling both men through the heart.  “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”

 

 

Maeve bolted awake.  She scrambled off of the bed and was halfway to the main hall before she realized that she was wearing the black and cream dress, sweet Maker.   She found Alistair and Leliana still in the main hall.  Leliana was lying on the floor, a pillow under her head and a blanket covering her.

Alistair was sitting in the circle of salt, stroking Connor’s head.  The boy was asleep.  He looked up at her as she rushed in.  “What happened?”

Leliana lifted her head.  “Nice dress.”

“Urthemiel pulled me into the Deep Roads, into his kingdom,” she told him.  “It was harder to break his hold this time.”

“The demon destroyed the holy protections in the castle,” Alistair stood up.  “Maker’s breath, I didn’t even think about that.”

Leliana stood as well.  “I’ll go and get Reverend Mother Hannah, we’ll start the basics.  We may want to go back to Kinloch Island.  This is going to need a lot of holy and magical work.”

“He went for me immediately,” Maeve wrapped her arms around herself.  “Alistair, he… he’s watching me.  He told me so himself.  He’s some horrid voyeur who likes to watch… me.”  She let out a little shutter.  “I’m his mate and he thinks that gives him a right to…”

“Hey,” Alistair drew her into his arms.  “If he could always see you, we’d have more vampire activity around us.  He is boasting.  You were left vulnerable, with just the cross you’re wearing as protection.  We won’t let that happen again.”

“Alistair,” she huddled into his arms.  “My clothes changed.  I was really there.  This… this is what I was wearing in the dream.  He… changed my clothes.”

“You look very nice, Freckles” he assured her.

“I changed them to this… in the dream.  He put me in something else,” she explained.  “I believe Leliana’s seamstress friend called it Victim Wear.”

He chuckled.  “Yes, I remember.  Well, this is more appropriate for my warrior queen.”  He drew her into the salt circle and pulled her down onto his lap.  “I won’t let him have you.  I would like you to be mine, but that’s your choice.  Still, I don’t want you with … him.”

“I am yours,” she lifted her lips to his.

 

 

Balder lay in bed, trying to sleep.  He wondered if he should go stay by Leliana’s side.  As a dwarf, his ancestors had worshipped the Stone, and then as the vampires had swelled in numbers and the holy items of the Maker seemed to hold the creatures off, a following had started.  Even now, he wasn’t sure which path to follow.  He admired Leliana’s faith, though, and seen that her methods worked.  He didn’t know if it was her Maker or a power in her. He admired that power and the heart behind it.

The door quietly opened and the sultry, tempting Witch of the Wilds crept in.  “Can you believe that this is what they gave me to sleep in?  She fingered the white flannel that encased her sumptuous curves.  Then she slowly peeled it off, revealing her lush figure to his gaze.  She wrapped her arms around herself, cradling her plump breasts.  “Brrr… I’m so cold.”

“If you’re cold, then put the nightgown back on,” he suggested.

“But I need you to warm me, Balder,” she slowly sauntered towards his bad.  “I need you.”

“Here,” he flung a blanket at her.  “This should help.  Now, good night.”  He turned his back on her closing his eyes and ignoring his raging lower half that cried for him to grab the temptress and pull her into the bed with him.  He hoped that Wynne was happy.  He realized that it was Leliana he was doing it for, though, and that helped to calm him down.  The door slamming shut didn’t help.


	52. Cliffs of Red, Lake of Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maeve runs to Kinloch to get help for the Guerrins. She then quickly leaves again.

“We’ll try and return with Irving and others who can redraw your wards and perform your holy rites,” Maeve promised as she left with her group.  She wanted to get out of the castle before she was pulled to the Vampire King in her dreams again.

Teagan grabbed her hands and kissed them.  “Hurry back, my lady.  I shall look forward to being reunited with you.”

“You do that,” Alistair grabbed Maeve’s hand from Teagan and tucked it under his arm as he led her out.

“Aren’t you going to say goodbye to your uncle?”  She teased.

Alistair stopped and, in front of everyone, kissed Maeve soundly.  Then he glanced at Teagan.  “Goodbye, uncle.”

Maeve tried to hide her smile at his possessive streak and the unspoken warning.

The trip back to Kinloch Island was mostly without incident.  They didn’t take time to stop and sleep at an inn, but pushed on.

Maeve was glad for the protections on the ship and of the ship itself, as well as the running water beneath it that seemed to keep Urthemiel at bay.  She lay on a soft blanket, gazing at the stars that twinkled in the heavens, with Alistair’s arms around her.  “We need more nights like these,” she murmured.

“We do,” he pulled her close and kissed the top of her head.  “Before we set foot back on Kinloch Island I must make a confession.”

“What?”  Had he secretly done some horrid ex-Templar ritual?  She hoped not.

“I… looted one of the music stores,” he explained.  “I’ve been waiting for the right time to give you something.”  He slowly climbed to his feet.  “Stay here.”

“What…?”  She moved to a kneeling position watched him rush below decks. 

He came back carrying something in his arms.  It was a bagpipe.  “You said you played.”  His ears had turned red.

She laughed in delight.  “I do.”

“Good,” he thrust the instrument forward here.

She took the pipes, smiling at him.  The bag even had the Cousland tartan.  Then she climbed to her feet and gave them testing blow.  The sound was quite good.  Alistair sat down at her feet as she began to play a sweet melodious tune.  Alistair recognized the song, praising the Maker’s mercy to his children and began to sing along.

 

 

It was rather easy to get those they needed to on Kinloch Island.  They returned to Redcliffe a week later with those they needed in tow.

“My beautiful goddess, you have saved us once again,” Teagan beamed at Maeve as they watched Irving and a reverend mother work.

“How is Eamon?”  Her concern was getting the alliance of the earl.

“He needs the Blood and Ashes of Andraste,” Teagan was sure of that.  “It will be the only way to save him.”

“Wynne, put that on our list of tasks still needing to be accomplished,” Maeve ordered.  She wasn’t going to tell Teagan that she had a lead.

“You will be staying again tonight, won’t you?”  His attention was too amorous for her liking.  She was being courted by Alistair and had a Vampire King determined to claim her as his mate.  She didn’t need an overly amorous, and a bit cowardly, baron courting her as well.

“If we’re going to get the Blood and Ashes and save Thedas, then we need to get moving along to our next destination,” Maeve made a tsking noise.  “The darkspawn will not wait while we socialize.”

“Of course,” he kissed her hand and left with Irving.

Maeve waited until he was gone.  “Sorry if you wanted to stay, but I still don’t trust the protections of this castle and will not sleep in it.”

Alistair tucked her hand into the crook of his arm.  “I don’t trust them either and I’m beginning to not trust Teagan around you.  Let’s go.”

They hadn’t made it out of the castle, before they were interrupted by screams.  They followed the noises, which took them back down into the dungeons.  They found the reverend mother dangling from the hands of a large nosferatu.  There was another Nosferatu, as well as two Byronic vampires.  Irving had the second Nosferatu in a static cage and the two Byronic vampires were slowly trying to move around him.  The one in the cage had pronounced pointed ears and a huge forehead.

Maeve unsheathed her swords, but before she could do more, Leliana let out a war cry and put an arrow through the Nosferatu who had drained the reverend mother’s heart.  The two Byronic vampires looked at Maeve then at each other.

“It’s her,” one said.  Maeve noticed that he still had pointed ears.  He’d been an elf in life.

“We can still secure her for our king,” the other one, shook her pale head, her dark hair getting in her eyes for a moment.

“You can, Helen, I’m out of here.”  The former elf ran as the one called Helen attacked.

Maeve easily decapitated the vampire formerly known as Helen.  She gave chase after the other vampire; she used her powers to try to sense him.  He was somehow behind one of the cells.  There must be more tunnels in Redcliffe Castle than she knew.  She thought of going after him anyway, but she’d left the others with the unusually large nosferatu.  She turned to an argument.

“We should study him,” Wynne was insisting.  “I’m sure he was a Qunari.  We’ve never seen a Quanari whose been turned.”

“I’m sure we have, we just killed them instead of studied them,” Alistair countered.

“Who are you?” Wynne asked the vampire in Irving’s electric cage.

“I am Sten of the Barasaad,” the creature declared.  “I am now Sten of Urthemiel’s loyal subjects.  He chose me to find his missing mate and return her to him.  You will come with me, your majesty,” he looked directly at Maeve as he said the last part.

“No, I won’t,” Maeve informed him.

“You are the Queen Mate, you must,” Sten insisted, although he was unable to break out of the cage that now held him.

“I know you, the Reverend Mother of Lothering left him in a cage outside of the city,” Leliana explained.  “That was after he slaughtered a family of farmers… even the children.  I bet the Vampire King loved getting a recruit like you.”

“This is a perfect opportunity to study him,” Wynne insisted.  “We could get to know their weaknesses.  Perhaps find new ways to safeguard against them and defeat them.”

“She has a point,” Balder conceded.  “My instincts are to kill every vampire out there, but it would be nice to know if there are more effective means.”

“We could leave Wynne and Balder here,” Alistair suggested.  “We can pick them back up after we return with the Blood and Ashes of Andraste.”

“That would leave you without your healer and a formidable warrior,” Morrigan pointed out.  “’Twould be a foolish move.  We shall all stay or all go.”

“I have no desire to stay another night in this castle,” Maeve didn’t tell the others how easily she’d been sucked into another astral dream where her spirit had traveled to the Deep Roads the last time she had slept in the castle.  Only Alistair even knew it had happened, but it was as if something about the land caused it to happen more easily than merely not having protection.  Perhaps Urthemiel had a connection to Redcliffe.

“We can’t leave them behind and finding new forms of protection would be nice,” Leliana insisted.

VanHowling barked at the others, leaning against Maeve’s legs.  At least she had his agreement.

“It might be nice traveling with just the three of us,” Alistair pointed out.

“Yes, it would,” she agreed.  “Fine, we’ll see the rest of you when we travel back through.”

“Now young lady,” Wynne’s voice was firm.  “You two are not going off alone, without any type of chaperone.  You have been outvoted and must deal with it.”

“No, I don’t,” she took Alistair’s hand and walked off, VanHelsing followed closely behind them.


	53. Rotten Rogues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maeve and Alistair are ambushed by Loghain's assassin.

“Where are we heading to next?” Alistair wondered as the boat gently bobbed along.  He stood next to Maeve; their arms around each other, watching a thick fog roll in.

“We should go to Denerim for supplies,” she decided.  “There wasn’t much in Redcliffe and I want to get a handle on what is happening in Ferelden.  We’ll dock in the town of Calenhad and then make our way east.  The boat should, hopefully, be safe if we leave it there.”

“If not, we’ll steal another one later if we need to,” he assured her.

“Of course,” she just shook her head.

“If we are heading toward Denerim, well,” he hesitated.  “And when we’re there… I was wondering if we might be able to… look someone up.”

“Oh would this be a _friend_ of yours, a good, old _friend,_ ” she didn’t like the perspective, but why else would he be so nervous?

“I’m not talking about a friend, exactly.  And, no, it’s not that sort of friend, either,” he hadn’t missed the emphasis in her voice.  “The thing is… I have a sister… a half-sister.  I told you about my mother, how she was a serving girl at Redcliffe castle, and she had a daughter… only I never knew about her.  I don’t think she knew about me either.  They kept my birth a secret, after all.  But after I became a Grey Warden, I did some checking and… well, I found out she’s alive.  In Denerim.”

“That’s wonderful news,” something told her it wasn’t, but how couldn’t it be?  She’d lost her family and knew the horror of now being alone.

“She’s the only family I have left, the only family not also mixed up in the whole royal thing.  I’ve just been thinking that… maybe it’s time to see her.”

“Before she becomes a vampire’s midnight snack?”  Maeve filled in the blanks.  “Alistair, you can’t reject your family because you don’t like the birthright that comes with them.  That isn’t fair to them or you.  You can’t deny any drop of your own blood.”

“I can try,” he argued.  “Anyway, with the Blight and everything, I don’t know when else I’ll get a chance to see her.  Maybe I can help her, warn her about the danger, I don’t know.”

“Since we’re going anyway, we might as well try,” she gave in.  “Stop trying to deny your heritage, though.  You won’t get another family.  You can’t just sit there and ignore the cries of their bean si…”  She trailed off.  “That’s who that was.”

“Who what was?”  He became confused.

“The night before my family was slaughtered, I saw a woman crying on the battlements,” she explained.  “I think it was the family bean sidhe.  I should have listened.  I don’t know what I could have done differently, but I should have listened.  Alistair, we’ll find your sister, but I won’t let you deny your own birthright.”

“Could we?  Find her I mean, not the birthright stuff,” he watched the fog slowly engulf the boat.  “If something was to happen to her and I never even went to at least see her, I don’t know if I could forgive myself.  Her name is Goldanna and I think she married, but still lives just outside the Alienage.  If we’re in the area, then… well, it’s worth a look.”

“Let’s get some sleep,” she made sure the anchor was secure and walked down to the sleeping area, VanHowling in tow. 

 

 

From the town of Calenhad, the trio slowly made their way east.  They had camped one night, ensuring their camp was well warded.  The next evening, as twilight fell and they walked through a misting rain, a woman came running to them.  “Oh thank the Maker!  We need help!  They attacked the wagon; please help us!  Follow me!  I’ll take you to them!”

Maeve glanced at Alistair and VanHowling.  “This is definitely a trap.”

“Highwaymen or vampires?” Alistair wondered.

“With our luck, it’s probably both,” Maeve decided.

VanHowling barked in agreement.

“Do we walk away or spring it?”  Alistair wondered for a moment.  “Oh, why am I asking, of course, we’re going to spring the trap.”  He gave Maeve a quick kiss.  “The person with the least kills makes dinner.”

“I don’t know, with your cooking I lose either way,” Maeve snarked.

They followed a little way.  “Does she think we don’t see the traps,” Maeve shook her head.  She blended into the shadows and disarmed them before the faux maiden in distress even realized it.

The woman stopped in front of a blonde elf and nodded.  The elf signaled and about two dozen hired mercenaries spread around them.

“What?  You aren’t even going to make it a challenge?” Alistair wined.

A tree fell, blocking their retreat.  As if they would have, Maeve mentally snorted and VanHowling relieved himself on the tree.

“The Crimson Wardens die here!”  The elf declared in a thick Antivan accent.  The woman behind him began gathering arcane energy, she was a mage. 

“This is your last chance!” Maeve shouted at the mercenaries.  “Leave or die!”

“Wait, Crimson Wardens?”  A mercenary at the bottom of a hill ran, leaving his companions.  The rest stayed.

“Suckers!”  Alistair declared.  “You should have gone with your friend.”  He used his Templar training to kill the mage and had decapitated her in less than two minutes.

Meanwhile, Maeve had knocked out the elf with the butt of the Sword of Faith and then began taking out all of the mercenaries to her left as she signaled Alistair to go right.  VanHowling happily ran from side to side, ripping out throats. 

In less than half an hour, the mercenaries were all dead.  Maeve returned to the unconscious leader and stared down at him.  “He sounded Antivan.”

“Who cares?” Alistair shrugged.  “Kill him, that’s what we do to people who try to kill us.”

The elf made a little purring sound as he woke up and lifted his head, supporting his upper torso on his left arm.  “Mmm… what?  I… oh.”  He looked up at Maeve.  “I rather thought I would wake up dead.  Or not wake up at all, as the case may be.  But you haven’t killed me yet.”

“That could change at any second,” Maeve assured him.

“Ooh, you’re a rather aggressive little minx, aren’t you?”  The prisoner purred.  “Lovely, too.  But if it’s questions you’re planning on asking, let me save you a little time and get right to the point.  My name is Zevran, Zev to my friends.  I am a member of the Antivan Crows, brought here for the sole purpose of slaying any surviving Crimson Wardens, which I have failed to do, sadly.”

“I must say I’m quite happy you have, as there is only one left and we’re in the middle of a Blight.  There is a Vampire King who is happily taking over Ferelden right now.  By the way, I’m not the Crimson Warden,” Maeve informed him.

“I would be happy I failed too, if I were in your shoes and may I say those are lovely boots you are wearing today, my deadly little flower.  It does, however, set rather for precedent where I’m concerned, doesn’t it?  Getting captured by a target seems a tad detrimental to one’s budding assassin career.”

“That’s too bad for you,” she shrugged, really not caring.

“Yes, yes, it’s true” he agreed.  “Too bad for me.”

“Who went through the expense of hiring a Crow to kill me… or possibly Alistair,” Maeve glanced at her companion.

“I can give you a couple of suggestions,” Alistair muttered.

“You came all the way from Antiva just to kill us?” Maeve shook her head.  “Really?”

“Not precisely,” the assassin admitted.  “I was in the neighborhood when the offer came.  The Crows get around you see.”

“So who was it?”  Maeve pressed.  “Which of our enemies hired you?”

“A rather taciturn fellow from the Capital called… Loghain, I think.  Yes, that was his name.”

“So you are loyal to Loghain,” Maeve concluded.

“Good, let’s kill him now,” Alistair encouraged her.

“Look, I have no idea what his issues are with you,” Zevran spoke more quickly.  “The usual, I imagine.  You threaten his power, yes?  Beyond that, no, I’m not loyal to him.  I was contracted to perform a service.”

“Oh, like a woman of the street?”  Maeve crossed her arms.  “And now that you have failed in that… service?”

“Well, that’s between Loghain and the Crows,” Zevran assured her.  “And between the Crows and myself.”

“And between you and us?” Maeve raised an eyebrow.

“Isn’t that what we’re establishing now?”  Zevran leered at her.

“When were you supposed to meet with Loghain next?”  Maeve hoped to set a trap.

“I wasn’t,” Zevran admitted.  “If I had succeeded, I would have gone home and informed the Crows of my success.  If I failed, I would be dead.  As I should be now, as far as the Crows are concerned.  There was no need to see Loghain again.”

“How much were you paid for coming after us?” Alistair wondered.  “I hope we were worth at least a tidy sum.”

“I wasn’t paid anything,” Zevran explained.  “The Crows, however, were paid quite handsomely.  Or so I understand.”

“You didn’t even see part of the cut?” Maeve thought that sounded like a bad business practice.

“I get paid after I report my success,” Zevran sat up a little more.

“What percentage?” she pressed. 

“Well, you see… being a Crow doesn’t do much more than put food on the table,” Zevran explained.

“Yet, you decided to go into this line of work that required you to attack a Crimson Warden.  Maybe we should kill you to save you from your own stupidity,” Maeve suggested.

“Well, aside from a distinct lack of ambition, I suppose I became a Crow because I wasn’t given much of a choice,” Zevran explained.  “The Crows bought me young.  I was a bargain, too, or so I’m led to believe.  But don’t let my sad story influence you.  The Crows aren’t so bad.  They keep one well supplied; wine, women, men, whatever you happen to fancy.  Though the whole severance package is garbage, let me tell you.  If you’re considering joining, I’d really think twice about it.”

“For an assassin, you’re awfully talkative,” Maeve observed.

“Why not,” Zevran laughed.  “I wasn’t paid for silence.”

“That’s for sure,” Alistair agreed.

“So who are you loyal to?”  Maeve questioned.

“Loyalty is an interesting concept.  If you wish, and you’re done interrogating me, we can discuss it further,” Zevran offered

“The sun is already setting, so you’ve stolen the time I was using to get to an inn,” Maeve grumbled.  “You might as well keep yapping my ear off.”

“Well, here’s the thing,” he began.  “I failed to kill you, so my life is forfeit.  That’s how it works.  If you don’t kill me, the Crows will.  Thing is, I like living.  And you are obviously the sort to give the Crows pause.  So let me serve you instead.”

“Can I expect the same level of loyalty from you that the Crows and Loghain have seen?” She raised an eyebrow.

“I happen to be a very loyal person,” he insisted.  “Up until someone expects me to die for failing.  That’s not a fault, really, is it?  I mean, unless you’re the sort who would do the same thing.  In which case...I don’t come very well recommended I suppose.”

“Do you think I’m stupid?”  Maeve challenged.

“On the contrary,” he assured her.  “I think you’re rather hard to kill and extremely beautiful.  Not that I think you’ll respond to flattery, but there are worse things than serving the whims of a deadly sex goddess.”

“Why do we need you to help us?”  She wondered.   “If the Crows are going to come after you, aren’t you more of a hindrance than a help?”

“I am skilled at many things,” he assured her. “From fighting to stealth and picking locks.  I could also warn you should the Antivan Crows attempt something more… sophisticated… now that my attempts have failed.  I could also stand around and look pretty if you prefer.  Warm your bed?  Fend off unwanted suitors?  No?”

“No,” her voice was firm.  “We have not even been properly introduced and you are being scandalous.  Truly, ser, I should challenge you to a duel right here and now.”

“Or not,” he realized he’d stepped over a line.

“Besides, I have a suitor, he can take care of any unwanted ones,” she informed him.  “And standing around, looking pretty is Alistair’s job.”

“That’s right,” Alistair agreed.  “I’m very good at it, too.”

“I know which end of a stake to stick a vampire with,” Zevran added.

“Fine, come along,” Maeve turned from him.  “Welcome to the party, the rest of them are back in Redcliffe.”

“You aren’t really letting him come along, are you?”  Alistair objected.  “Are we really taking assassins with us now?  He tried to kill us.”

“Half of Ferelden has tried to kill us,” Maeve pointed out.  “Besides, we can just throw him at the vampires if he tries anything.  Maybe use him as bait.”

“All right, all right,” Alistair conceded.  “I see your point.    Still, if there was a sign that we were desperate, I think it just knocked on the door and said hello.”

“Let’s go,” Maeve turned, hoping to get to the inn before the moon was high and the inns full.

“Wait,” Zevran stopped.  “Let me do this first.  I hereby pledge my oath of loyalty to you, until such time as you choose to release me from it.  I am your man, without reservation… this I swear.”  He made a bow.

“That’s nice,” Maeve turned and began walking again.  “I’m still throwing you at the vampires if you dare betray us.”

“I’ll cut you and drain enough of your blood to make a map to your still breathing body if you try to warm her bed,” Alistair added.  “Just so you are aware of my intentions.


	54. Terrible News in the Thaig

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ortan Thaig receives updates.

“I did receive a letter from Tamlen,” Dora announced as she walked along the thaig’s streets with Duncan.  The dull light of the lamps illuminated the ancient buildings and desecrated holy symbols.  “They had traced Maeve to Redcliffe.”

“Earl Eamon wasn’t at Ostagar,” Duncan recalled.  “She must have gone to him for aid.”

“You mean they did,” she lifted an eyebrow.  “Is she not with the Crimson Warden Alistair?”

“She is,” Duncan nodded.  “But let’s not fool ourselves; she would be the one calling the shots.  Does Tamlen believe they are close to confronting her?”

“He is confident they will…”  She trailed off as they emerged in the square.  There was unrest.

Urthemiel sat in his throne, a nosferatu kneeled before him, its head bowed.  “Your Majesty,” he was saying.  “We have lost our primary group who went to fetch your queen.”

The Vampire King put his hand on the nosferatu’s head; it was a threat, not a comfort.  “What do you mean?”

The Nosferatu in question began to tremble.  “Sten has been captured by a mage.  They are… studying him.  They will most likely kill him when they are done.  All, but one member, of his party was killed.”

“No…”  Dora whispered.  Duncan put a comforting arm around her. 

“What about Daveth and Veronica’s groups?”  Urthemiel demanded to know.

“Veronica waits in Denerim,” the messenger reported.  “She believes if she is patient, your Mate will bring a means to capturing her right into Veronica’s shapely arms.  Daveth is hanging around the Brecilian Forest.  He says his instincts have taken him there and she will follow.”

“Very well,” Urthemiel let go of the nosferatu’s head and sat back in this throne.  “Report to me of their success.  You will not like the consequences if they, too, fail.”

“I can’t believe Tamlen is gone,” Dory leaned against Duncan.

“I think we lost Tamlen before this,” still Duncan kept his arm around the former Dalish elf.  “Let’s go pray for his soul.”

“There are no shrines to the gods here,” Dora’s voice was soft.  “Nor is there one to your Maker.”

“Then we’ll make one,” Duncan never let such details stop him before.


	55. Destination Denerim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maeve and Alistair reunite with the rest of their team

“The Blue Mist and his rebels are taking control of Highever,” a short buxom woman with a huge laundry basket propped on her hip told her companion, a tall gaunt lady who carried a basket filled with mushrooms and eggs, bound for Denerim market.  Neither seemed to mind the soft, misting rain that came down.

“It seems that no one is happy with the changes in Highever,” the companion agreed.  “The people aren’t putting up with the Howes.  The man himself is still here in Denerim, but only King Loghain seems to think he is doing a good job.”

“Loghain is no king,” the first woman grumbled.

“Don’t let his people hear you saying that," her friend warned.

“Well, I fully support this Blue Mist and whatever he’s doing,” the laundress insisted.  “I wonder if he’s related to the pirate who is sailing around the nearby Storm Coast.  The ship only attacks those bringing in supplies to Howe or whose captains are loyal to Howe and MacTir.  Some say it is the ghost of the _Mistral_ flying to defend the rightful rulers of Ferelden again.”

“Why are we listening in on the conversation of two quidnuncs?” Zevran demanded to know.

“Maeve is from Highever,” Alistair explained as they moved on.

“Truly, lovely lady,” Zevran wiggled his eyebrows.

“Yes,” she nodded.  “And the _Mistral_ isn’t a ghost.  She’s been kept in a secret cave on Cousland lands.  She was more than seaworthy the last time I saw her.  Let’s get some rooms at the Gnawed Noble Tavern and then we can split up to get supplies.”

“How many rooms?” Zevran leered at her.

“Well, VanHowling sleeps with me,” Maeve considered.  “So he doesn’t need his own room.  I guess that means three.”

“Or less,” Zevran wiggled his eyebrows.

Maeve glanced at Alistair and blushed.  “No, Alistair and I are merely courting, we don’t… do more.”

“You and Alistair are…” Zevran hesitated.

“You hadn’t noticed?  You’ve been traveling with us for almost a week,” Alistair was amazed.

“You don’t like showing too much affection in public, remember,” Maeve pointed out.  She patted Amanda’s flank, as she led her to the tavern’s stable master.  “You should kiss me in public more often.”

“But… what about our audience?”  He stammered.

“Oh, don’t mind me,” Zevran smirked.  “I like to watch.”

“He’s creepy,” Alistair muttered, but brought his lips down on Maeve’s.  She wound her arms around his neck, enjoying the warmth that always rushed through her at his touch.  He kept her hand in his as they walked into the tavern.

“Well, it’s about time,” Leliana sat on a stool next to Balder.  “We’ve been waiting for you two for the last two days.”

“Well, hello,” Zevran slid onto a bench across from her.  “Who might you be?”

“Who is this?” Balder demanded.

“He’s an assassin we picked up on the way here after he tried to kill us,” Maeve explained.  “So what did you learn in Redcliffe?”

“I have some theories,” Wynne joined them.  “And some exciting news.”

 

“So what did you do with the prisoner?” Maeve asked after Wynne went over her experiments.

            “I’m not done with my story, young lady,” Wynne reprimanded her.  “Such impatience.”

            “So you wanted to see if elfroot had any effect on him, to heal him after you put a silver stake in his shoulder and he had a bad reaction to hit,” Maeve recalled Wynne’s last experiment.

            “A very bad reaction, I thought we might lose him at that point,” Wynne confirmed.

            “Wouldn’t that be a loss,” Maeve was beginning to wonder if Wynne was a mad scientist rather than a mage.

            “It would have,” Wynne confirmed.  “I then decided to try salt.  First I used salt from Arlessa Isolde’s table.  Poor Sten, the vampire, felt compelled to pick up every single grain of it.  His skin was singed a bit by it, but the picking up of every grain took hours.  He wouldn’t let me help either.  Irving had to lower the cage, too, to allow it.  Then I wondered what would happen if I took him out on a day when the clouds obscure the sun.”

            “Nothing, that is why they like to travel in the rain,” Maeve thought everyone knew that.

            “Well, I took him outside, but the sun broke through,” Wynne admitted.  “The poor thing caught on fire, so I threw water on him.  It was holy water, though.  He began screaming, so I threw sea salt on him to smother the flames.  When that didn’t work, I threw him into Lake Calenhad.”

            “You threw salt on him to smother the flames that were caused by him being a vampire exposed to daylight?”  Maeve wasn’t sure if she’d categorize Wynne as a mad scientist anymore, but she was definitely mad.

“I also threw a coat over his head,” Wynne recalled.  “It belonged to the reverend mother his friend killed.”

“So he’s dead now and at the bottom of Lake Calenhad,” Maeve hoped he was a tasty snack waiting for the Calenhad Monster.

“No, he’s right here,” Wynne raised a hand and made a motioning sound.

A hornless Qunari with stark white hair approached their table.  “Hello.”

“I recruited him, I think he’s cured,” Wynne was pretty sure he was.  “Who better to help fight vampires than a man who was once one of them?”

Maeve had just recruited an assassin who had tried to kill her and she was pretty sure she was the one making the better decisions.


	56. Deflowered in Denerim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our heroes spend the night in Denerim.

“A wise man once said that a trap is only a trap if you don’t know about it.  If you know about it, it’s a challenge,” Alistair declared.

“I’ve never heard of that before,” Morrigan dissented.

“That’s because it was in a book,” Alistair slowly enunciated the last word for Morrigan.  “You may have heard of them. They have pages in them with words to be read.”

“I’m sure they’ve granted you _much_ wisdom,” she drew out the word much.  “They likely taught you how to persecute harmless Circle Mages as you studied to be a Templar and about Ruffalo the Druffalo,” she referred to a popular children’s bedtime story.

“Do you remember the days when it was just you, me, and VanHowling traveling?” Maeve muttered to Alistair.  VanHowling barked in sympathy.

“I do,” he agreed.  “And at least one of our new companions is likely plotting against us.  That’s what I meant about a trap.”

“I would guess both,” Maeve eyed the others over their dinner plates as they gathered around a large table in one of the Gnawed Noble Tavern.  She had a full day planned for the morrow, but had wanted to take some time to relax.  The tavern had Andraste’s Grace woven into the vines that grew around and over the building.  Different protective crystals hung from the ceiling and each room’s doors had protective wards painted on them.  Plus, she’d made a deal with the inn’s keeper to not only do some odd jobs around Denerim for pay, but to make sure that no one reported her or Alistair’s whereabouts to those loyal to Loghain.

“I have given you my oath of loyalty, my deadly dulcet darling,” Zevran drawled.  “You know I shall keep it.”

“I will aid any who are striving to eliminate these vampiric vermin from Thedas,” Sten, the vampire turned back into a Qunari’s, voice was matter of fact.  “We are allies, not enemies.”

Maeve and Alistair just glanced at each other.  They’d already ensured that their rooms would be next to each other’s, but they were both still wary of their new companions.  “Let’s share a bottle of wine and some cheese tonight,” Alistair whispered into her ear, before placing a soft kiss on it.

“That sounds good,” she agreed.

They waited for about ten minutes before leaving.  Before the ten minutes were up, Balder had suggested that Leliana walk take a walk through the moonlit market with him and the pair quickly left.  Maeve noted that Morrigan looked like she wanted to burn that moonlit market to the ground. 

“Zevran,” she smiled at the elf.  “Why don’t we… never mind, forget I said anything.  I’m going to bed.”

Maeve and Alistair followed, leaving Wynne, Sten, and Zevran to themselves.

 

 

“One would not think it proper for those two to leave for their rooms at the same time,” Sten shook his head.

“She’s a widow,” Wynne explained.  “They are given more… freedom here in the South.”

“Still, it’s shameful,” he shook his head.

“Didn’t you two say that you are sharing a room?”  Zevran wiggled his eyebrows at them.  “That is much more scandalous than leaving dinner together.”

“That is so Wynne can watch over me and ensure I don’t change back to an undead creature of the night,” Sten argued.

“Oh, so she’s just going to watch?”  Zevran smirked.  “I like to watch, too.”

“Sten, let’s go,” Wynne’s other alternative was to take Zevran over her knee and spank him, but she suspected he’d like that.

When he was alone, Zevran closed his eyes and took another deep drink.  “Is this seat taken?”  He opened his eyes to see a lovely, red-haired, woman dressed in clothes that were a bit out of date.  The neckline of her light copper dress was scandalously low and he could swear the dress had been soaked as he could easily make out the shapes of her curves and never-ending legs.

“Take me… I mean, no it isn’t taken,” he fumbled.  He frowned; he never fumbled with a lady.  “Who might you be, my sweet succulent scilla?”

She smiled seductively.  “My name is Veronica.  What is yours, handsome?”

 

“Do you think that Zevran might be an incubus?”  Alistair was sitting on Maeve’s bed this time.  The room in the Gnawed Noble Tavern sported a large bed, as well as a bath big enough for four people in the corner, a throw rug, and a wardrobe.  He kept looking at the tub and wondering what it would be like to take a long, hot bath with Maeve in it.  He reminded himself that she was a noblewoman…and he’d never even _been_ with a woman like that.  Or any woman, come to that.

“He wishes,” Maeve took a bite of one of the crackers he’d brought.  “Shouldn’t these have gone stale by now?”

“I picked up more when we reached Denerim,” he turned pink.  “I… I was hoping we’d find time to be alone for another impromptu picnic.”

“Oh,” her grin was wide.  She tried to hide it by taking a swig of the wine bottle.  “Nice.  Anyway, we’ve seen Zevran in the daylight and he’s… a little too smooth… to be an incubus.  Besides, they’re probably better at picking locks than he is.”

“Don’t tell him that,” Alistair chuckled.  “He thinks he’s an expert lock pick.”

“I keep thinking that I’ll have to go around and unlock every chest and then let him think he’s unlocked it to save his pride,” Maeve mused.  “Then I remember that I don’t care about his pride, I’m more worried about him betraying us.”

“Now we also have the supposed ex-vampire to worry about as well,” he took the bottle and took a long swing.  “That’s going to come back and bite us in the ass… I mean… behind, sorry my lady, and neck.”

“At least I have you to watch both my neck and behind,” she laid her head on his shoulder.

“Always,” he kissed the top of her head.  Then moved in for her mouth, warming them both more than the wine did.

“I’ll watch yours as well, always,” she returned the kiss.  The wine bottle tilted in her hand and she drew back, taking a sip.  “Who did you have watching your back… before?”

“I…”  He thought about the question.  “Before Duncan came along, I really didn’t have anyone to watch it.  I was moved from my comfortable room in Redcliffe castle to the stables when I was about seven.  Then I was sent off to a monastery.  I told you that my being a bastard prince caused others to view me differently.  It wasn’t until Duncan came and got me that I felt like anyone was there to protect me.”

“That explains why you love him so much,” she played with the lip of the bottle.

“How about you?”  He took the bottle and took a drink.

“I always knew my parents would protect me, no matter what, and if push came to shove, so would Fergus,” she sniffed at their memory.  “Then there was Tara.  There are times I think she still tries to protect me, even though we’re far apart.  The last time… I was drawn into the Vampire King’s Thaig… he said that someone had blocked him from watching me from his crystal ball.  Tara is a seer; she could do it if she was also looking into a ball.”

“What about now,” he put his arm around her and drew her even closer as if afraid the Vampire King was looking on her even now.

She shook her head.  “He can’t see me if the place has holy or magical protections.”

“Good,” he didn’t loosen his grip, but brought his mouth down on her again.  She responded by wrapping her arms around his neck and holding on. 

She smiled when she felt him fumbling to put the wine down on the little side table behind her.  “It creeped me out pretty badly as well, it was enough to break his hold last time.”

“I don’t like hearing he has any hold on you, whatsoever,” he kissed her forehead.

“I’m a Chosen One, it makes me a bit susceptible,” she planted a kiss on his chin and then his nose.  “Plus, he thinks I’m his mate.”

“You aren’t,” he insisted, he gave into his greatest urge and began kissing each and every one of her freckles.  “I don’t care what supernatural or chemical bond is there, you aren’t his mate.  You will choose who to walk this world and the beyond with.”

“And if I choose you?”  She moved her head to the side as he traced the freckled down her cheek and to her neck.

“Then I’m the luckiest man ever to set foot in Thedas,” he slowly unbuttoned her blouse so he could continue the kisses.  He’d never dared go this far with a woman, but he wanted to go further.  The cheese and wine had emboldened him and he was determined to claim every freckle on her ivory skin with a tender caress from his lips.

She ran a hand through his hair.  “When…”  She gave a soft moan.  “On my wed… when I was supposed to do this with…”  She stopped again.  “This isn’t the time to talk about that, but… this is so different.”

“I would hope so,” Alistair agreed, as he slid her writing jacket and shirt off, exposing her to him.  She was so beautiful, Maker he was such a lucky man.

She smiled and began to unbutton his shirt.  “I mean I was so nervous… I… it was a duty, which I didn’t go through.  This,” he kissed his chest as the shirt fell away.  “I want this.”

“Tell me to stop if you decide you don’t,” he moved his head down to kiss the freckles on her exposed breast.  “I… I want this too, but I’ll stop.  I swear, I will.”  The kissed continued.  “It’s good you haven’t done this either,” he murmured between the kisses.  “That way neither of us will know if I do anything wrong.”

She laughed tenderly as her hand caressed his back.  “Just tell me you’ll still respect me in the morning.”

“Respect?”  He moved down her stomach.  “I worship you.”  He slowly pulled her skirt off.  Her knickers followed.  He gazed at her bare form and prayed to the Maker that he would be worthy of such a wonder.

When his trousers finally followed, they slowly joined together.  They were caught up in their new world of sensation, just the two of them exploring what they each could bring to the other.  She called his name as she orgasmed for the first time; the ecstasy was unexpected and welcoming.  He soon followed, shouting his praises to her and the Maker.  Then collapsed on her.  Slowly he forced himself to roll off of her, but slipped an arm under her shoulders so she rolled onto him.

She snuggled her head on his shoulder.  “So _that’s_ what I’ve been missing.”

“There it is,” he agreed.  “We should try it again tomorrow when we haven’t drunk so much.”

“Hmmm…” She purred.  “That would be nice.”

“We are going to have to get married in the meantime,” he pointed out.  “I’ve compromised you.”

“I was already a widow,” she was falling asleep, snug against his side.

“I want you as my wife, anyway,” he mumbled.  Maker, he wanted to keep her by him always.  “I want you forever.”

“Is this a propos…”  She fell asleep.

He smiled as he followed her.


	57. Dastardly Dead Devils Deceive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talon and Veronica discuss their progress.

Daveth watched the tavern, unable to go in.  The protections had been enough to keep him out, but not his ally.  He’d recognized Maeve’s horse, Amanda, in the stables.  He couldn’t even go in there to snack on the equine flesh, the protections were too great. 

He wrote a letter, letting Urthemiel know that he had once again located his bride.  The Vampire King would be pleased.  Daveth felt strange, though, being back in the town where he’d grown up.  He could see Shania, one of his old friends, conning a pair of minor nobles.  They would find themselves without their wallets or the fancy canes they carried by morning.  He might have to visit her later.  He wasn’t sure if it would be to drink her sweet, sweet blood or to once again enjoy her as a companion as they both walked the world of the undead.

After a few hours, Veronica sauntered out of the tavern.  “Some of those protections should have kept me out,” she mused as she looked back at the tavern.  “Too bad for them, the affairs of those such as Howe and Lady Sophie have opened the place up to me.  The lust of some of those inside is like a beacon.  None are greater than one of our queen’s companions.  We can let His Majesty know that we have found a path to bring his mate to him.”

“He will be most pleased,” Daveth was sure of it.  “You look well fed my dear.  Would you like to feed some more, I know I would.”

“Oh, yes, look at all of those living by their wits on the Market streets.  We could all feast tonight, my dear,” her eyes seemed to glow.  “There is no reason not to mix more pleasure with business.  “Where did Shawn and Claire go?”

“They’re at the Pearl,” he explained.  “It seems the new owner doesn’t understand that no matter what protections she puts up, one can’t protect a whore house.  They are feasting… and finding new… loves.”

“Very nice,” she considered.  “I’ll get you in.  We can feast until we burst tonight.”


	58. False Sisters and Old Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maeve and Alistair visit Goldanna, have ice cream, and talk to a sergeant.

Maeve had to admit that her team seemed to be in high spirits after their first night sleeping in the Gnawed Noble Tavern.  Wynne and Morrigan were the only ones who didn’t seem to be in high spirits.  Alistair sat beside her and she swore he looked smug; he did have reason to be.  She blushed just thinking about what they had done.

Zevran was whistling jauntily.  He grinned at his companions, but only gave Leliana a token leer.  It wasn’t even enough to make Balder glare.

“Wynne and I were going to go shopping today,”  Leliana announced.  “We need some supplies and more clothes, especially for Sten.”

“What I have on his fine,” the Qunari in question insisted.

“No, it isn’t, young man,” Wynne’s voice was firm.

“What about you?” Leliana pressed.

“We’re… going to meet Alistair’s… sister,” Maeve wasn’t sure how much she should reveal.

“You have a sister,” Morrigan snorted.  “’ Tis she also a simpleton?   Don’t bother answering, I am sure she is.”

“Actually… I’ve never met her,” Alistair’s voice was soft and Maeve reached over to squeeze his hand.

“I shall…”  Zevran’s words were cut off by a huge yawn.  “If you are all off on your own little quests, I believe I shall take a long nap and relax here.  I’m suddenly very tired.  I must have overtaxed myself last night.  It’s no concern, don’t worry yourselves.”  Nobody looked worried.

“We’ll meet back here for lunch,”  Maeve decided.  “We can decide where to go next, then.  I do want to also see if Genetivi is home.  He might be able to give me more insight into finding the Blood and Ashes of Andraste.  Try to avoid any of Loghain’s men while you are out.”

“No one asked what I am doing,” Morrigan sniffed.  “Yet if you are wondering, I will be gathering basic spell ingredients.”

“Haven’t you picked up everything you needed while we were traveling in the wilderness?”  Wynne wondered.

“These are some more… select ingredients,” Morrigan was being mysterious and Maeve found she couldn’t care.

 

“This is it,” Alistair stood outside of Goldanna’s door.  “Should I go in.  I should knock and then go in.”  He lifted a hand and lowered it.  “Perhaps I should pretend to be a customer.  I have heard that she is a laundress.”

“Do you want to come back at another time?” Maeve offered.  He seemed so horribly nervous. 

“Yes… no,”  Alistair lifted his hand and knocked.

A small girl with dirty hair, that might be a honey gold if washed, answered.  “Yes, good sir?”  She blinked up at him with big blue eyes.  “Are you here for your wash?”

“I’m here to see Goldanna,” he answered.

“Oh,” she brightened.  “Are you the doctor?  Mother is having another one of her spells, they do come more frequently lately.”

“Yasmine, is it more laundry?” A flame-haired woman in clean clothes and a bewildered expression came near the door.

“Goldanna?”  Alistair fidgeted.  “I’m… well, I’m…  I don’t know how to say this.  Your mother is my mother.  I’m your brother.”

“My…”  Her expression became troubled and her eyes glazed over.  “No, they told me the babe was dead.  I had said it was the king’s and alive and they said no it wasn’t and that the babe had died.  Then they gave me money and sent me off.”

“Well, I’m not dead,” Alistair insisted.  “I’m here.”

“No,” she backed up.  “The babe is dead.  To prove it, he began to haunt me.  I could hear him crying at night.  Once I followed the sound.  He… he was _dead_ , yet he still cried.  He wasn’t no king’s baby either.  He was Rendon Howe’s, the Arl of Amaranthine's baby.  He had visited the castle to talk about some trade treaty at the time she became pregnant and… played… with the maids while staying at the castle.  Mother let him take a tumble.  I didn’t know it then.  She… came to me later… with blood still pouring down her legs.  She was stark white from the loss and cold with the touch of her grave.  She told me the truth.  It…”

“Father says that it unhinged her and that she has grown worse after she had children of her own,” the little girl, Yasmine, explained. 

“Then the Crimson Warden came with the king’s babe,” Goldanna continued.  “I was in the castle then.  It’s how I became… confused.  They put the king’s babe in the cradle mother had prepared and made her babe… disappear.  That’s why he cries out.  He never got proper rites.  His afterlife suffers to protect the king’s babe.”  She stopped, her gaze centering on Alistair with cold calculation and anger.  “You’d be the king’s babe, his real babe, then.  My family has suffered even more for you.  The least you could do is give us more payment.  I was turned out with a pittance while you were given my brother’s cradle and soft beds afterward.  I expect you to do right by my family and pay us an allowance for those you displaced.”

“What?”  Alistair took a step back.  “You’re crazy.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Maeve agreed.  “I think we might as well go.  We seem to be done here.”

“What about my allowance?”  Goldanna roared.

“Now, mother,” Yasmine put a calming hand on her arm.  “We don’t even know if this is King Maric’s babe.”

“I… am,” Alistair admitted.

“We’re not giving you an allowance,” Maeve insisted.  “If you feel wronged, take the Guerrins to court for it.  You will get nothing from us.”

“Couldn’t we at least…” Alistair began to wheedle.

“No,” Maeve crossed her arms.  She took a step towards Goldanna.  “It is obvious that whatever happened to your fractured your mind, but we have other problems right now, like that horde of vampires that are ravaging Ferelden.  We need whatever money we have to take care of that.”

“And who are you?”  Goldanna’s voice seemed to change, she became angrier and somehow her dialect changed.  “Some camp follower who is chasing after the bastard prince?”

“You will not talk to her like that,” Alistair tried to step between the two women.  “Not only is Maeve one of the Chosen Ones, she is a Lady of Ferelden and my fiancée.”

“Oh, a high and mighty lady is she?”  Goldanna taunted.

“The daughter of a duke,” he agreed.

“Well, even the babe didn’t have such high and mighty pedigree, although you did,” she crossed her arms.  “I deserve my cut for keeping up the charade.”

“Let’s put it this way,” Maeve glared at her.  “We will let you stay with your husband and children until they decide that you are too much of a burden and we won’t have you delivered to the mental doctor now.  Alistair, she isn’t your family, let’s go.”

Alistair followed her until they had left the cabin and then he let out a long breath.  “The maid wasn’t my mother?”

“I don’t know,” Maeve confessed.  “This Goldanna is pretty unhinged.  If what she says is true, you were switched with a baby who had died to cover up the identity of your mother.”

“But not of my father,” he pointed out.  “That is just strange.”

“I agree,” Maeve nodded.  “How are you holding up?”

“Even knowing what we were both going through, she just wanted my money,” that shocked him.  “She didn’t want us to find out what happened to her brother’s body and to bring him peace, she focused on the money.”

Maeve wrapped her arms around him.  “You’ll find out that many people in this world are only looking for what they want, what they can get.  You have a kind and gentle soul, but you need to stand up for yourself more.”

He pulled her closer, despite the townsfolk milling around them.  “I guess you’re right.”

“I love you,” she reminded him.  “Know that I’m willing to fight for what I want.  I noticed an ice cream parlor not far from the Gnawed Noble Tavern.  Why don’t we go and enjoy some sweet privacy together?”

He kissed her forehead.  “I’d like that.”

 

 

As they exited the ice cream parlor arm in arm, one of the city guards moved to intercept them.  “Really?  Can’t I have ice cream in peace?”  Maeve wondered.

“It seems not,” Alistair patted her arm.

“Lady Cousland?” The guard in a Sargent’s uniform bowed.  “I’m glad to meet you.”

“Do I know you?”  Maeve wondered.  “Have we been introduced?  I mean… Lady Who?”

“Nice recovery, sweetheart,” Alistair assured her.

“I beg your pardon, my lady,” the sergeant bowed.  “Where are my manners?  I am Sergeant Kylon, the head of the guards in Denerim Market.  I wanted to know if there was a way I could help two Chosen Ones in our dark time.”

“How do you know we’re Chosen Ones?”  Maeve looked around nervously.

“Oh, your likeness was passed around the senior guardsmen at the palace,” Kylon explained.   “I must say the sketch didn’t do you much justice.  I hear there was a picture of your originally, but it disappeared.  It was strange, but then many strange things have been happening in the palace of late.  One morning, the seneschal discovered that during the night all of the portraits had been switched around.  Something keeps spooking Loghain’s horse.  He tried switching to a new horse, but that one is getting spooked also.  Then there is strange music.  Howe is in town and one night, while he stayed in the palace, people swore they heard two men singing tavern songs all night long.  They must have roused some other ghosts in the castle, because it seemed there was a full on party going on with music and dancing.  Some of the younger guardsmen went running.”

“So what are you going to do now that you have discovered I’m right here in Denerim, that is if I am Lady Cousland,” Maeve wondered.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Kylon assured her.  “Even if I did believe that cockamamie ‘official’ story of what happened in Ostagar, I’m no fool.  If I asked my men to apprehend you, they’d all run and cry big, sobby tears into the courtesan’s bosoms and leave me alone to be slaughtered.  Don’t disturb the peace in the market and that’s good enough for me.  If you meet up with Loghain’s personal men, please just hide the bodies well enough that I won’t have to deal with them.”

“Are things really that bad around here?”  Maeve had little confidence in Loghain as a ruler, but this was worse than she had anticipated.

“The lower market isn’t deemed important by the Captain of the Guard,” Kylon explained.  “Even less with Earl Howe in charge.”

“Wait,” Maeve frowned.  “Earl Rendon Howe?  Why would he be in charge of Denerim?”

“With the Kendalls dead, Loghain made him the Earl of Denerim,” Kylon explained.

“Isn’t that convenient for him?”  She muttered.  She didn’t like the man continuing to benefit from the suffering going on in their country.

“Not really,” Kylon insisted.  “He’s dealing with a mess here and the estate isn’t in the best condition.  They say you can hear screams coming from there at night, but the guards all say the screams aren’t coming from any living human or elf.  That’s added to the troubles from Highever.  That Blue Mist and his rebels are giving Howe quite the hard time, they are the stuff of legends.”

“Is Howe in Denerim now?”  Maeve hoped she kept her voice nonchalant.

“Alas, no, my lady,” Kylon admitted.  “He is dealing with more trouble in Highever.  It seems that one of his supply ships was sunk and then the Blue Mist appeared in the middle of Castle Cousland and stole all of the taxes he’d collected from the people and had his men give it back to the same people they’d been taken from.  They received their money back to the exact coin.”

“A shame I missed him,” she shrugged.  “I shall have to leave him a calling card.”

“Yes, well, perhaps you could find a way to get him to recruit some decent help while you’re at it,” Kylon grit his teeth.

“You’re short on guards?”  Maeve looked around.  She supposed that with the vampiric incursion, it was quite possible that many of Ferelden’s major towns were facing shortages of help.

“Oh, they still send me men,” Kylon assured her.  “Each time they do, I get the delightful surprise of discovering they’re Lord Such-and-Such’s illegitimate, untrained, moronic whelps.  But lords keep sending me more of them.  It’s decent pay, no expectations, a uniform.  So I have a legion of bastards to protect the market from pickpockets, stabbings, and whatnot.  And Earl Howe’s specially picked men are the worst of the lot.”

“How are they worse?”  She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

“With the bastards, I just have to worry about dicing, the odd it of drool, or yelling at them too loudly and hurting their poor feelings and then getting chewed out by their noble fathers.  But I swear the earl’s men are more criminal than the miscreants we occasionally arrest.  Some of them _are_ the criminals we have to arrest. So if your lifeblood isn’t draining in the gutters as we speak, don’t bother reporting it.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”  She feared that something similar was going on in Highever and hoped there was someone there to help her people.  She could at least try to help someone doing right by the people of Denerim who also now found themselves under Howe’s incompetent iron thumb.

“What?”  He blinked in surprise.  “You’re serious?  I mean… yes, yes, I could use help.  I’ve got a pretty popular… er… establishment… that’s crawling with mercenaries.  They also had a couple of vampire attacks last night.  One of their girls' blood has been drained.  A customer was found with… well, they obviously have a succubus feeding there.  If I send my boys in, someone might get… Maker forbid… hurt.  And I’ll have to explain to their noble fathers that being a guard is actually dangerous.”

“What do you need me to do?”  She prompted.

“The name of the whore-house is the Pearl,” he explained.  “Beat down any mercenaries that are out of line and send them a message.  While you’re at it, investigate the deaths and make sure the vampires have moved on.    I said beat down, not kill.  Let me make that really clear; not on fire, or exploded, or Maker knows whatever type of grisly death you can dream up.”  He caught himself.  “Sorry, I’m used to giving orders to my boys.  Just leave them breathing and I’ll be happy.

“What has been going on in Denerim,” Maeve wondered.  “I’ll take care of it for you.”

“Thank you, Warden,” Kylon gave her a little smile.  “Happy hunting.”

“I’m not a Warden,” she informed him.

“Right, well, good luck,” he turned towards where a pickpocket was running by, chased by a well-dressed fop  “Back to work.”

Alistair watched after him.  “The boy’s fast.  Is it lunchtime yet?”

“We just had ice cream,” she reminded him as they meandered through the market.  Near the entrance to the alienage, she spied a notice.

_Don't believe the lies! Friends of the Grey Wardens assemble. The hidden pearl holds the key to resistance. The griffons will rise again._

“Why does that give me a hinky feeling?”  Alistair wondered.

“I’m sure it is part of the survival instincts that those who are Chosen Ones have,” she assured him.  “It feels off.”

“It’s a trap,” he grinned playfully at her.  “I say we spring it and kill all the baddies.  It will be fun.”

“Fine,” she laid her head against his shoulder.  “But only because I love you so much.”

He kissed the top of her head.  “Was that so hard to say?  I love you too, more than anything.  So when are we getting married?”

“We’d have to call for the bands,” she frowned.  “I doubt that anyone at the Denerim chantry would marry us without knowing who we are and if we tell them, someone would go running to tattle to Loghain.”

“I don’t hear a no to my proposal in there,” he smiled.

“I guess that means it was a yes then,” she admitted.  “I love you, I want to still be together after we defeat the vampire king.”

“We will be,” he swore.

 

 

Leliana was scowling and fidgeting when she returned to the Gnawed Noble tavern for lunch.  Balder kept his arm around her, but she was obviously upset.

“What happened?”  Maeve leaned back in her seat.

“We saw an… uh… old friend,” Balder explained.

“I’m still not sure what is happening,” Wynne admitted.

“She is obviously upset about that other woman we saw,” Sten stated.

“What other woman?”  Maeve demanded to know.

“Marjolaine,” Leliana snapped the word.  “She must have followed me.”

“Your old… associate?”  Leliana had told Maeve about her old love, Marjolaine.  The bard mistress had been stealing and selling Orlesian State secrets.  When she’d been discovered, she’d framed Leliana and let her take the fall.

“It was her,” Leliana confirmed.  She ordered a drink, but no food.

“This just means we have to pay her a visit, remind her of… old times,” Balder declared.  “I’m sure Maeve and Alistair will help.  Won’t you?”

“We’d be delighted to,” Maeve assured him.

“Thank you,” Leliana sighed.  She forced a smile that didn’t meet her eyes.  “Alistair, how was your meeting with your sister?”

Alistair blanched, but told her.


	59. Pleasantries at the Pearl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maeve and her friends stop by Brother Genetivi's house and then continue on to The Pearl.

Maeve stared at the door to the townhouse that matched the address that Brother Genetivi had left her.  She had stopped to wonder how her trip to Denerim had become so busy.  She had decided to stop into Genetivi’s home in hopes that they could lead each other to the Blood and Urn of Andraste.  Once they were done there, they would move on to the Pearl.  They had decided to put off confronting Marjolaine until the next day.  Of course, they’d had to wake Zevran up from his nap before they could even do that much.  He seemed rather… drained.

“Well, he’s not there,” Zevran yawned.  “We’ll have to come back later.  Let’s get to that whorehouse.”

“Oh look,” Alistair forced the door.  “His door’s lock is broken.  We should make sure he’s all right.”

“Oh, no,” Maeve’s voice was over dramatic and she brought her hand to flutter over her heart.  “Kylon told us how lawless this area is of late.  We must help him.”

“Let’s just get onto the whore house,” Zevran insisted, he was ignored and Alistair and Maeve led the way into the house.

They found a man in the dining room, looking affronted.  “What are you doing in my home.”

“This is Brother Genitivi’s house,” Maeve insisted.  “I have his card right here.”

“I am his assistant, Weylon,” the man stood.  “I do not appreciate you breaking and entering.”

Maeve noticed the air behind Weylon shimmer.  A man took form.  He was about the height and coloring of Weylon.  He began motioning to Weylon, then himself, and then he made a slashing motion with his finger.  Maeve pointed at Weylon, made the same slashing motion, and then pointed at the ghost.  She mouthed _He killed you?_

The ghost nodded and pointed at a door on the far side of the room.  She glanced at the man claiming to be Weylon and then the door the specter had indicated.  She said nothing, just walked up to the door and opened it.

“No, don’t!”  The man who was definitely not the real Weylon charged at her, a knife drawn.  Maeve almost laughed at the puny blade before she ran him through.

“What was that about?” Leliana wondered looking at the dead body

“You didn’t see the ghost?” Balder was surprised.  “I guess it is a Chosen One thing.”

They went through the door and found the remains of the real Weylon.  “It looks like someone has absconded with our beloved monk,” Leliana observed.

“Whoever fake Weylon in there,” Maybe   Maeve waved vaguely toward the other room. “It was probably who fake Weylon there was working for.”

“I’ve found several references to a village called Haven,” Alistair was flipping through a journal.  There is a map of Thedas with the village marked in the back of here.”

“Let’s add Haven to our to-do list then,” Maeve sighed.

 

 

The Pearl was located in a neighborhood that was even seedier than the lower market.  Alistair and Maeve both looked around nervously before they walked into the building.

“So neither of you have ever…”  Zevran wiggled his eyebrows at them.

“I’m a widow,” Maeve lifted her chin, dignified.

“Plus, she and Alistair totally did the deed last night,” Leliana grinned at them.  “I could tell this morning.  Don’t tell me you didn’t notice those little touches and blushes over breakfast.”  Both of the people in question did indeed blush.

“Why don’t you go and talk to the patroness, Balder,” Maeve suggested.  “Alistair and I will catch up in a moment.”

“Are you too shy to talk to a Madame?”  Balder teased.

“I may be a widow, but I am a lady,” Maeve’s voice was prim.

“What about Alistair,” Balder wiggled his eyebrows at the Crimson Warden.

“I’m too shy,” Alistair wasn’t embarrassed to admit it.

When Balder led the others into the main room of the house of ill repute, Maeve pulled Alistair into the darkened corner near the fireplace.  “Are you too shy to kiss me now that our friends are gone?”  She wound her arms around his neck.

“Hmmm… I’ll get over it,” he kissed her, spreading warmth and a soft tingling through her.  She returned his caresses as their lips moved against each other.

“Perhaps we…”  She began when they separated.  She stopped as the air in front of her shimmered.  She saw two women, one a golden blonde, the other a dark ginger rush in.

“We can’t let them find it,” the redhead insisted.  She looked around.

“They’ll never look in here,” the blonde insisted.  “We’ll come back for it later, there are too many out there for us to fight right now.”

“You’re right, Buff,” the redhead agreed.  “I hate admitting defeat.”

The blonde kneeled and pulled up a floorboard.  “Here.”  The other woman slid the sword inside.  Then the specters ran further into the building and disappeared.

“That was… strange,” Maeve commented.

“I’m beginning to think that nothing is too strange for us,” Alistair admitted.

“Do you think it’s still there?”  Maeve knelt where she’d seen the other two women hide the sword.  She pulled out a dagger and jammed it into the floorboards until she could pry them up.

“The guards here should be stopping us,” Alistair observed.

“They’re too busy wringing their hands over those mercenaries,” Maeve was sure of it.  She slid a silver sword out of the floor.  The hilt was made from a substance she didn’t recognize, but there was a cross on it and a pattern of willow branches running up it.  There was in inscription below the guard.  _Light unto and from the Goddess_.  A second inscription on the other side of the sword revealed its name.  _The Sword of Buffy._   There was a small tree etched on the blade.  “Wait there’s something more.”  She put her hand under the floorboards and withdrew a mage’s staff.  It was made from wood and silver and a red stone glimmered near the top.  Etched in the silver were the words _The Staff of Willow._ They quickly replaced the floorboards and added the weapons to those they were already carrying. 

“Let’s go join Balder,” Alistair helped her up.

 

 

“They’re over there,” an older woman in a low cut, an extremely low cut, and red dress was talking to Balder.  “Just get them out as quietly as you can.”

“’ Twould be easier if I just turned them all into toads,” Morrigan sniffed.  “’ Twould be very little fuss or muss.”

“That is a consideration,” Balder mused.

“No, it isn’t,” Alistair insisted.

“After Morrigan transformed them, we could just put them all in a bag and drop them near the chantry,” Balder was still considering the idea.

“It is a thought,” Maeve admitted.  “But we’d have to go chasing after them and what if one escaped the bag and came back here?  I’ll take care of this.”  She pulled out a fan and then glided to the men, her head held high.  “Hello, gentlemen.  I’m Lady Cousland, daughter of the Teyrn of Highever.  I heard you were the type who was interested in doing work for nobles.”

“That’s right,” one of the men leered at her.  “That is when we aren’t having a good time.”

“Yeah!”  One of the other men agreed, downing an entire tankard.

“Is this how you behave in front of noble women?”  She gasped, the fan fluttering near her bosom.  “I could never hire men who would act like this in front of me.  I am of noble, genteel blood, after all, and I am shocked at what I see.  I think I may have the vapors.  You should leave now before I tell everyone at Lady Elfstanna’s soiree what I have seen today.  The Red Steers was it?”

“That was Crimson Oars?”  The first mercenary corrected.  “I mean… you’re right, my lady.  I am sorry for such crass behavior before you.  Forgive us.  We should go.”

“Yes, do so,” she agreed.  “I will tell everyone how respectful and responsible you were.”

“Men, let’s head out,” he grabbed his sword and hat and headed for the door.

“Thank you, my lady,” the Madame breathed.  “How did you learn to impersonate a noble so well?”

“I am a noble,” Maeve informed her.  “Lady Elfstanna is my cousin.”

“So you wouldn’t be interested in one of my men or women for a night as a thank you?” She saw the look on Maeve’s face.  “Of course not.  Well, take my thanks and a glass of my best wine.”

“Thank you,” Maeve nodded.

“You could have gotten me a companion for the night,” Zevran grumbled.  “Not all of us are snogging handsome knights.”

“If you want companionship like… that… you will have to pay for it out of your own pock…”  Maeve became distracted as she watched a woman dressed in a billowing white blouse and pirates skirt fencing against four men.  She held a cutlass and long dagger that she easily repelled the men with.  “Wow, I’m impressed.”

Zevran’s eyes widened.  “Is that…  it’s been a while.”

“Is she a friend of yours, Zevran?” Leliana asked.

“She’s… I guess you could use that word,” he conceded.

When the last of the woman’s attackers had fled, Maeve approached her.  “Excuse me, I was wondering if I could speak with you a moment.”  She didn’t realize, at first, that her friends had all decided to back her up until the other woman looked around her at her friends.  She addressed Maeve first, though.

“Ah, a Crimson Warden… and I had heard that all Ferelden Wardens were killed or exiled from this place,” she commented.  “Oh, don’t look so surprised.  I’ve seen many of your kind in my journeys and there is always something… odd about you.”

“Really?”  Maeve raised a delicate eyebrow.  “Then it might surprise you to learn that I am not, in fact, a Crimson Warden.  There is only one left in Ferelden and he is handsome and strong.  Also, who says I’m not dead or an exile?  Don’t I look like an exile?”

“You wouldn’t be in Denerim if you were,” Isabela pointed out.  “You’re also no ghost.  I can’t see through you and there is too much color in your sweet round cheeks.”

“Your fighting skills are impressive,” Maeve admired them.  “Perhaps you’d like to join my efforts to stop the vampires that are spreading throughout Ferelden.”

“I assume you saw that little drama,” she looked to where the men had fled.  “None of those poor brutes has ever proven a match for me.  They are too clumsy and predictable.  I fight with quickness and wit, rather than brute force and strength.  I call myself a duelist because my skills in duels with warriors I encountered over the years.”

“Can you teach me how to be a duelist?”  Maeve wanted to learn some of the skills she’d just seen.

“Ha!”  She gave a little laugh.  “An unusual request coming from a fearsome vampire slayer.  I am flattered that you wish to learn from me, sweet thing.  Why don’t you come and play Wicked Grace with me and we’ll consider it.”

“Wicked Grace?”  Maeve wondered what the other woman was up to.  No doubt she thought to lift some coin from a naïve noble.

“Be careful of Isabela’s games, Maeve,” Zevran cautioned.  “They can get out of hand.  One moment you’re looking at what you thought was a good hand and the next you’re sitting in your nickers and wondering what just happened.  Hmmm… you two in your nickers, please play.”

“And look what we have here,” the woman commented.  “Come to apologize for leaving me bereft of my husband and then vanishing without a trace?”

“It was never my intention to leave you bereft, sweet Isabela,” Zevran wiggled his eyebrows.  “Why don’t we discuss that later?  I promise you will feel… less bereft… this time.”

“Later, for now, we play cards,” she turned to Maeve.  “Yes, sweet thing?”

“Could I just pay you to teach me?”  Maeve had a feeling it would be less expensive.

“I just want to play cards and talk, is that so hard?”  Isabela questioned.  “Have you played Wicked Grace?”  Isabela went on with the instructions.  Maeve had played plenty of times, but didn’t feel the need to inform her opponent of that.  “Before we begin, the cards must be shuffled.  “Shall I or would you like to?”

“Oh, I will,” Maeve took the cards and began shuffling them, doing bridges and other patterns as she randomized the cards.

“Now I will cut,” Isabela reached for the deck.

“No, Wynne will cut,” Maeve glanced at the elderly mage.  Wynne reached over and did so.

“You’re new to this game so I’ll deal,” Isabela insisted.

“Of course,” Maeve did her best not to roll her eyes.  She noted Isabela’s too pleased expression and watched as she dealt the cards out.  She wondered if the patron shot cheaters in her questionable establishment.

After they shuffled, Maeve glanced at her hand.  It was passable, but Isabela seemed too pleased with herself.  “We may draw another card if we wish,” she reached over.  Maeve quickly grabbed her wrist, showing off her lightning reflexes, and turned the pirate’s arm over as she shook it, three cards fell out.  “You know what we do to people who cheat at cards in Ferelden don’t you?”  She wasn’t sure herself, she didn’t hang out in establishments like this before the Blight.  It sounded like a good threat, though.

“The game was just a test,” Isabela assured her.  “Which you passed.  Your reflexes are very fast and sharp, which you would need to learn my style of fighting.  Your first lesson will begin at the docks two hours before twilight.”

“Very well,” Maeve nodded and stood.  She turned to Alistair, who lifted her hand and kissed the back of it.  His lips sent a tingle down her arm and through the rest of her.  “Let’s go spring a trap, my love.”

“Before you go, why don’t I accompany you to your ship until the lesson, Isabela,” Zevran offered.  “We should… catch up on old times… below deck.”

“Very well,” she sighed as if doing him a favor.  “Until then.”

 

 

They made their way to the door indicated on the notice and knocked on the door twice.  “The griffons will rise again,” Maeve supplied.

The door opened to reveal a room full of mercenaries.  Not a single one of them looked as if they worked at the establishment.  Maeve wondered what they would have to be paying for a room of their own in such a place.  “Well, well,” the man who appeared to be the head of the mangy group declared.  “It looks like our little notice bagged us more Crimson Warden supporters.”

“Not just supporters, those _are_ Crimson Wardens,” one of his companions pointed at Maeve and Alistair.  Then indicated Balder.

“Hold on a moment,” Maeve casually strolled in.  “I am not a Crimson Warden, just a Chosen One.  Balder is the same as I,” she assured them.  “Now why would you be trying to trap those who support the Crimson Wardens while there is a Blight on?  I have seen the Vampire King myself, he exists.  You wouldn’t happen to work for Loghain, would you?  If you did, I would have to kill you.”

“I will pray over your bodies afterward,” Leliana assured them.  “Should I pray now to have the Maker prepare for your travel to His side?”

“We don’t work for Loghain,” the head mercenary assured them.  “We work for Duke Rendon Howe.”

“You work for that bastard?”  Maeve unsheathed her swords, she now carried both The Sword of Faith and the Sword of Buffy.  “Know that I am not killing you because you were setting traps for Crimson Warden supporters.  You do deserve to die for that, but you have done something much worse.  I am killing you because you work for Howe.

“Alas, now all I can do is help loot your bodies,” Leliana shook her head.  “I can not pray for those who work for Howe, Maeve really wouldn’t like it.

“She’s right, you will head to the Abyss for that offense.”  Maeve swung out her sword, killing one of Howe’s minions and injured another.  VanHowling pounced on the injured man and finished him off. 

Alistair took on a Qunari, while Leliana put arrows into another of the mercenaries, as Wynne and Morrigan joined the fight.

Soon all that was left was the leader.  “Who were you?”  Maeve demanded to know.

“I _am_ Paedon,” he revealed.  “You might have killed my men, but…”

“But I haven’t destroyed your family yet,” Maeve pointed out.  “Did they know that you worked for Howe?  Did they support your poor decision?”

“What?”  Paedon tried to crawl away from her.  “Why does that matter.”

“It is the difference between whether or not I have to kill them too,”  she swept her swords and took his head.


	60. Betrothals and Betryals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maeve and her team spend another night in Denerim. Some friends may not be as loyal as they seem.

Maeve returned to the Gnawed Noble Tavern after her dueling lesson with Isabela.  The fog was rising off of the docks and blanketing Denerim as she made her way back to her friends.  She had another one set for a few hours after dawn the next morning and presently had Zevran in tow.  “How are you still standing?”

“I have no idea what you mean beautiful one,” Zevran smirked.  “Do you question my virility?  Do you need a demonstration?”

“No,” she had no interest in something that had been in at least two other women in the last twenty-four hours, even if she hadn’t fallen in love with a certain handsome, goofy, and sometimes moody prince.  “Did you know that Chosen Ones have unprecedented strength and virility?  It helps with our battle against the undead.”

“Really?”  His interest was piqued.

“I’ve only been with a Chosen One… that way,” she let out a long dramatic sigh.  “I’m afraid that all other men would be a bitter disappointment to me.”

“Oh,” he continued behind her in silence.

Alistair greeted them in the Gnawed Noble Tavern’s main room.  “Leliana and Wynne decided to take Sten to the Dirty Dowager.  It’s a nightclub north of here.  It is said to be patronized by Denerim’s most disreputable citizens, along with its most powerful nobles.  Really, it just seems to be a second rate club that lets anyone in their door.  Balder decided to go with them.  Morrigan’s off somewhere, I asked her where, but she got quite graphic about how it was none of my business.”

“Really?”  She considered what that left her; Alistair and VanHowling, along with Zevran.

Zevran yawned.  “I would love to stay for whatever sterling conversation you two have planned for tonight, but I can’t keep my eyes open.  I think I’ll retire to bed early.”

“Actually, I’d planned a romantic dinner in my rooms,” Alistair admitted.  “I wasn’t planning on having you there at all.”

“What?”  Zevran’s hand went to his heart.  “You wound me.  Very well, I shall retire to my room to recover from this sting.”

“According to Isabela, he wasn’t his usual zestful… self,” Maeve confided.  “She was asking me if he had some hidden injury.”

“Perhaps his pride is more vital to him than we realized,” Alistair mused.  “It has been injured and he is physically suffering.”

“Talk about a fragile ego,” she murmured then hooked her arm through Alistair’s.  “You said something about a romantic dinner.”

“That I did, my lady,” he took her hand and kissed it.  “I have it all arranged.”

 

 

Leliana was dressed in a red and black bodice with a gauzy red short sleeved blouse under it and a black and red tiered skirt that was much higher in the front.  Her hat was a take on a man’s top hat, with a lot of lace and flowers attached.  Balder hadn’t bothered to change clothes and Wynne was wearing a high necked walking dress.  She didn’t know how they could be so unfashionable.  She led them to the spot the tavern keeper had told her about.

She stopped at the top of a set of stone steps and carefully walked down them, to be greeted by a doorman dressed all in black.  “Password.”

“Listen to the Children of the Night, what sweet music they make,” Leliana recited the password that had been given to her by the tavern keeper.

“That they do,” the guard opened a door and let them into the candlelit club where a band plaid eerie music and couples danced freely along the floor.

Balder pulled Leliana onto the dancefloor as Wynne went to find a table.

 

 

Wynne watched the young couples twirling around.  She supposed it was good for Balder and Leliana to relax.  At least they weren’t getting as serious as Alistair and Maeve.  That pair had her worried.

“Might I… sit with you,” an elf asked.  “It was almost as if he were asking for an invitation to come into her private quarters.”

“I suppose,” she looked over the drink menu.  “Do I know you?”

“You might,” the elf nodded.  “I was in Redcliff Castle when you… apprehended some acquaintances of mine.  I understand you have an interest in studying the Blessed Children of the Night.  I have a proposition for you, I’m sure we can provide you with as many test subjects as you like as… compensation.”

 

 

Zevran was asleep almost the moment his head hit the pillow.  He’d been unusually tired all day and had, shamefully, fallen asleep on Isabela as they were romping.

“Do not tell me that you are too tired for me, my wild stallion,” a soft, familiar voice crooned to him.

Zevran opened his eyes to see the luscious redhead from the night before sitting on his bed beside him.  “Veronica?”

“I could not stay away from you,” she slid a hand along his chest and Zevran felt his little elf hardening at her every touch. 

There was no way he would fall asleep on this beautiful little sexpot.  One thought did bother him, though.  “How did you get in here?  I thought I locked the door and I didn’t hear it open.”

“I guess I’m just better with… locks and stealth… than you are,” she made _locks and stealth_ sound dirty.  She straddled his chest with her firm, subtle thighs and leaned down to kiss him.

He let his hands trail up and down her back.  “I didn’t think I’d see you tonight.”

“Of course you…”  She pulled back a bit.  “You were with someone else today.  Who was she?”

“No one of importance,” he assured her as he captured her mouth with his, kissing her passionately.  Maker, Isabela couldn’t compare to the creature in his arms. 

Veronica pushed back, though.  “I feel betrayed.  After all, we shared, how could you…”

“I thought you just wanted one night from me, my sweet cinnamon delight,” he pleaded.  He didn’t know why, but he was desperate to be with her again.  It was as if someone were dangling a pair of Antivan leather boots in front of him and then taking them away.  “I…”

“I need some assurances… and a promise… if we are to ever be together again,” she pushed against his shoulder, pulling out of his embrace.

 

Twenty minutes after Zevran’s sleep had been disrupted, he found himself alone.  He had to think about what Veronica had told him… and what she’d asked.  He decided he’d have to think about it while he slept, although his body called for him to chase after her.  Sleep took him, though, and in the morning he wasn’t sure if he’d dreamed the encounter or not.

 

Maeve leaned against Alistair as she took a bite of warm, soft bread.  She ignored the look that VanHowling gave them.  The dog had a nice shank of mutton in his bowl and was just trying to make them feel guilty.  VanHowling was so transparent that not even Alistair was falling for his act.  They sat in Alistair’s rooms, their dinner on a table in front of them as they lounged on a couch.  Candles were lit everywhere.

“I wish it could be like this more often,” Alistair kissed the top her head.

“The food is pretty good,” she agreed.  “The kitchen staff are definitely better cooks than you.”

He chuckled.  “Don’t tell Leliana, I’m still trying to convince her that my lamb and pea stew is the best in Ferelden.  I meant just you, me, and the dog, though.”

“Hopefully, there will be plenty more of them once we defeat the Vampire King,” she set down her food and took his hand in hers.  “I will marry you, as soon as possible… if you still want to…”

“Of course I still want to,” he cut her off and then kissed her.  “I very much want to.”

“We can go to the chantry right now,” he just kept ahold of her, though, and didn’t make any move to go anywhere.

“If we go to the chantry, someone will tell Loghain where we are,” she reminded him.  “We’re heading to the Dalish next.  We could have their Keeper conduct the ceremony.”

“I guess we need to take care of Leliana’s problem and get on our way,” he declared.

“I was hoping to get some shopping in tomorrow,” she protested.  “I need a dress for the occasion and a scabbard for my new sword.”

“Anything you want love,” he kissed her again.

When they had finished eating, he had the large tub in the room filled.  They sat in the water together, snuggling.  They talked softly for a bit, but were mostly contented to just hold each other until the water grew cold.  Then Alistair carried Maeve to his bed and laid her on it.  They found their second night together to be even sweeter than their first.


	61. Griffon's Rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maeve and company leave Denerim and head south

“I still can’t believe she’s dead,” Leliana had barely said a word their last evening in Denerim.  They had confronted Marjolaine that morning.  Her old mentor and lover was even more tall and gaunt than she’d remembered.  The woman who’d once said such sweet things to her had said such foul things about her.  More shocking was that she thought Leliana had been preparing to make a move against her, as if there weren’t bigger problems in Thedas at the moment.

Then the woman had made the mistake of claiming that Ferelden smelled like wet dog and wrinkling her nose at the thought.  If there was one thing that united Fereldans, it was their love of their dogs.  Her companions had killed Marjolaine and her bodyguards without a second thought.  Then they had gone shopping after VanHowling had peed on the body.

Now they rode south toward the Brecilian Forest.  The day was overcast, but the sun occasionally peaked through the clouds, meaning they shouldn’t be encountering any vampires on the road.  She couldn’t shake the feeling that the undead were watching them, even now, though.

“She is, dear heart,” Balder assured her.  “I know she meant something to you, but she was too dangerous to let live.  She would have come after you eventually.”

“Still,” she shook her head.

Maeve slowed her horse, Amanda, to look at Leliana.  “Do you want to talk about it?  We’re all here for you.”

“I am not,” Morrigan disagreed.  “I don’t care about your petty problems.”

“Everyone, except Morrigan, is here for you,” Maeve corrected herself.

“I don’t care, either,” Sten rode a broad Clydesdale, which seemed extremely docile and placid.  “I only care about making sure I get revenge on those who tried to change me into an undead fiend and then returning home.”

“Why are we even bringing him along?” Maeve wondered.  She didn’t trust him.

“Because I insisted we do,” Wynne reminded her.  “And you wouldn’t want to leave your only healer behind in Denerim.”

It was becoming tempting, Maeve decided.  She turned back to Leliana.  “We’re here when you’re ready to talk.

“I know you are,” Leliana assured her.  “I just need to be alone for a bit.  I’ll talk later.”

 

 

“Shouldn’t we still be heading south?”  Balder became confused when Alistair, of all people, turned their little caravan to the east.

“We’re staying at the _Griffon’s Rest_ tonight,” Alistair explained.  “They offer free room and board to any Chosen Ones.  They believe the cost is worth having the extra protection.  They have the reputation of being one of the most well-protected inns in Thedas, even without attracting Chosen Ones as their patrons.  That means they have plenty of paying customers to keep them afloat.   I stayed there once with… with Duncan,” he sniffed about, trying to keep a tear back.

The group had traveled for an hour and was in a dense forest, with aged leaves crunching underfoot and a raven cawing overhead, when they were attacked.  A group of mercenaries jumped out of the nearby trees, wielding swords.  “Don’t hurt the redhead!”

“Uh, boss, there are two redheads,” one of his underlings pointed out.

“They must be here to avenge Marjolaine,” Leliana deduced.

“She’s dead, they would want you dead too,” Morrigan hit one of the men with a cone of cold before turning into a wolf and jumping at the neck of another man.

VanHowling already had yet another mercenary’s neck in his jaws.  Maeve swept out her swords, taking two more heads.

“We want the redhead with green eyes and freckles!”  The mercenary captain clarified.

“Maeve?”  Alistair hit the captain with his shield and then lunged at him, only to have his thrust parried.  “Why?”

“We don’t ask why, we ask how much,” the captain answered.

Balder jumped on another attacker, his large axe glistening with blood already.  “They aren’t after you, honey,” he told Leliana.

“No, they’re after my honey,” Alistair swept his leg low, knocking the captain off of his feet.  “Why?”  His sword tip was at the captain’s throat.

“I was given a lot of money and promised a whole lot more if I took her to a little village called Bosworth, it’s near Lothering,” the captain explained.

“Lothering has been overrun by vampires,” Leliana pointed out.

“No doubt that is who would be waiting,” Alistair agreed.

“Why would vampires want one of the Chosen Ones alive?”  Balder questioned.

Maeve and Alistair exchanged a look.  It was the captain who answered.  “They said the Vampire King needed to talk to her.”

Balder narrowed his eyes.  “How does he even know her?”

“We’ll discuss it later,” Alistair thrust his sword and ran it through the captain’s neck.

“Why did you do that?”  Leliana protested.  “He’d been defeated.  He was cooperating.”

“He served the undead.”  It was Maeve who answered.  She and Alistair exchanged another look.  She went to him and kissed him on the cheek.  “He might have already carried their taint.  _We’ll have to tell them,_ ” she whispered the last part in his ear.

He leaned in and kissed her earlobe before whispering back.  “ _No._ ”

 

 

_The Griffon’s Rest’s_ architecture bespoke of the fact that it had stood in the same place for hundreds of years.  Ivy climbed up one wall.  Someone had braided Andraste’s grace in with the ivy.  Over the door, were boughs of holly twined with garlic plants.  Silver wire had been used to knot protective crystals in with them.  Few guests were aware that there were protective crystals buried all around the property.  Even fewer knew that the inn’s original owner was also buried on the grounds.  He’d requested that he be buried there so he could defend his property and descendants from the undead forever.

As Alistair had claimed would happen, his room and board, along with that of Maeve and Balder, were free.  The others did have to pay for their rooms and meal.  They all ate together, as a small band played.

“So why were those mercenaries after you, Maeve?”  Wynne pressed.

            “There are several reasons they could have been aiming for me,” Maeve took a bite of her dinner.  “I’m afraid that I have more than my fair share of enemies.”

            “You were also the reason that I was in Redcliffe,” Sten revealed.  “The Vampire King seeks you out and insists that you be brought before him.”

            “She is the Scourge of the Underworld,” Alistair shrugged.  “I’m sure he wants to see the look on her face before he kills her personally.”

            “Sten?”  Wynne looked at him.

            “I’m not sure why he wants her,” Sten admitted.  “He used some terms I’d never heard of before when referring to her.  Quanari culture is quite different than that in Southern Thedas.”

            Maeve took Alistair’s hand.  “Dance with me?”

            He let her lead him to an open area near the small band.  “I’m not the best dancer.”  He pulled her into his arms and began to promenade her around the floor.

            “You seem competent enough,” she observed.  She realized the last time she had danced it had been with the Vampire King, right before he revealed that he watched her in secret.  He Vampire King had been a more proficient dancer and there was something darkly thrilling about being in his arms.  Alistair wasn’t bad and being in his arms made her feel safe and warm.  Urthemiel dominated the dance, while Alistair partnered her.

            “They taught us in the boarding school,” he admitted.  “Templars occasionally have to guard important dignitaries at balls and the Order didn’t want us embarrassing them.”

            “Oh, not a Templar who can not dance, how will the Order survive?”  She threw an arm over her forehead and pretended to swoon.  He caught her easily and drew her even closer as they moved together.

            “We’ll find a way to survive,” he swore.  “Together.”

 

 

            Balder watched the couple as they danced.  “So Sten, you really don’t know why the Vampire King is after Maeve above all other Chosen Ones?”

            “No,” he was adamant.  “There was even another vampire in the Thaig who had recently been a Chosen One, before the change.  King Urthemiel even sent him to fetch Maeve.  I didn’t get the impression that he wanted to kill her, though.  Perhaps he seeks her as a lieutenant.”

            “There was another Chosen One?”  Leliana spoke up now.  She had been trying to figure out how to distract Balder from his line of questioning.  The fewer people who knew why the Vampire King wanted Maeve the better. 

            “I’m sure he is tracking us even now,” Sten didn’t seem to think it was a bit deal.  “He will strike at us when he gets one of us away from a protected area.”

            “What a cheerful thought,” she muttered.  She turned to Balder.  “Would you like to dance with me?”

            “I don’t dance,” he grumbled.

            “That’s right, little one,” Morrigan waved her away.  “Go kick your feet up by yourself.  I’ll keep Balder company.”

            “I’m sure,” Leliana muttered.  Still, she grabbed her lute and went to talk to the band.  They were happy to let her join their little group and she started playing.  When she began to sing, she was happy to note that she had Balder’s full attention.  She was also happy to see that Morrigan had noticed that as well.

            She continued to play as Alistair and Maeve left the dining room early.  Alistair had been right about the inn, it was one of the safest places in Ferelden and she would cherish the night away from the Blight.


End file.
